GIFT   OF 


x?_ 


H 


MEMOIR 


OF 


THE    LIFE    AND    WRITINGS 


OF 


MRS.  HEMANS. 


BY  HER  SISTER. 


Not  for  the  brightness  of  a  mortal  wreath, 

Not  for  a  place  'mid  kingly  minstrels  dead, 
But  that,  perchance,  a  faint  gale  of  thy  breath, 

A  still  small  whisper  in  my  song  hath  led 
One  struggling  spirit  upwards  to  thy  throne, 
Or  but  one  hope,  one  prayer:  —  for  this  alone 

I  bless  thee,  O  my  God ! 
From  "A  Poet's  Dying  Hymn"  by  Mrs.  HEMANS, 


PHILADELPHIA: 
LEA     &    BLANCHARD. 

1840. 


MEMOIR 


MRS.  HEMANS. 


PERHAPS  there  never  was  an  individual  who  would 
have  shrunk  more  sensitively  from  the  idea  of  being 
made  the  subject  of  a  biographical  memoir,  than  she 
of  whom,  by  a  strange  fatality,  so  many  imperfect 
notices  have  been  given  to  the  world.  The  external 
events  of  her  life  were  few  and  unimportant ;  and 
that  inward  grief  which  pervaded  and  darkened  her 
whole  existence,  was  one  with  which  "  a  stranger 
intermeddleth  not."  The  gradual  developement  of 
her  mind  may  be  traced  in  the  writings  by  which  she 
alone  wished  to  be  generally  known.  In  every  thing 
approaching  to  intrusion  on  the  privacies  of  domestic 
life,  her  favourite  motto  was,  "  Implora  pace  ;"  and 
those  to  whom  her  wishes  were  most  sacred — in  whose 
ears  still  echo  the  plaintive  tones  of  her  death-bed 
injunction,  "  Oh !  never  let  them  publish  any  of  my 
letters!"  —  would  fain,  as  far  as  regards  all  personal 
details,  have  "  kept  silence,  even  from  good  words ;" 
and  in  this  spirit  of  reverential  forbearance,  would 
have  believed  they  were  best  fulfilling  her  own  affect- 
ing exhortation, — 

"  Leave  ye  the  Sleeper  with  her  God  to  rest."  l 

1  See  "  The  Farewell  to  the  Dead." 

3  *  (29) 


30  MEMOIR    OF    MRS.  REMANS. 

But  it  is  now  too  late  to  deprecate  or  to  deplore 
A  part  of  Mrs.  Hemans's  correspondence  has  already 
been  laid  before  the  public ;  and  the  result  has  been 
one  which  was,  doubtless,  little  contemplated  by  the 
kindly-intentioned  editor, — that  of  creating  a  very 
inadequate  estimate,  of  her  character,  by  "  present- 
ing, in  undue  prominence"  (to  use  the  words  of  a 
judicious  critic,)1  "  a  certain  portion  of  the  writer's 
mind,  by  no  means  the  portion  with  which  her  ad- 
mirers will  best  sympathize,  and  omitting  that  othei 
and  more  exalted  division  of  her  nature,  in  which  she 
was  solely  or  pre-eminently  herself." 

The  spell  having  thus  been  broken,  and  the  veil  of 
the  sanctuary  lifted,  it  seems  now  to  have  become  the 
duty  of  those  with  whose  feelings  the  strict  fulfilment 
of  her  own  wishes  would  have  been  so  far  more  ac- 
cordant, to  raise  that  veil  a  little  further,  though  with 
a  reluctant  and  trembling  hand.  It  has  not  been 
without  a  painful  struggle,  that  any  invasion  has  been 
made  on  the  sanctity  of  private  correspondence,  gen- 
erously as  their  treasure-stores  have  been  laid  open 
by  the  friends  who  had  hitherto  guarded  them  so 
religiously.  Such  letters  only  have  been  selected  as 
served  to  illustrate  some  individuality  of  character  or 
temperament,  or  to  exhibit  the  vivid  powers  of  de- 
scription possessed  by  the  writer ;  and  it  is  most  earn- 
estly hoped  that  these  unpretending  memorials,  feeble 
and  deficient  as  they  are  felt  to  be,  may,  at  least,  be 
found  free  from  anything  which  can  give  pain  to 
others,  or  lead  to  any  wrong  impressions  of  the  guile- 

1  In  the  leading  article  of  the  "  Dublin  University  Magazine" 
for  August,  1837. 


MEMOIR    OF    MRS.  I1EMANS.  31 

less  and  confiding  spirit,  whose  bright,  and  kindly,  and 
endearing  graces  they  so  faintly  attempt  to  pour  tray. 
It  is  acknowledged,  indeed,  that  as  to  the  points  of 
highest  moral  interest  and  importance,  little  more  than 
negative  merit  is  thus  attained,  and  very  imperfect 
redress  afforded  to  a  memory  on  which  such  partial 
light  had  been  thrown  by  previous  delineations.  But 
the  deficiency  is  knowingly  incurred,  as  preferable  to 
the  use  of  the  only  means  by  which  the  picture  could 
have  been  made  more  complete.  For  it  was  in  a 
great  measure  impossible  to  render  available  those 
positive  testimonies  to  the  generous  feelings  of  her 
heart,  and  the  high  principles  of  her  nature,  which 
her  correspondence  with  intimate  friends  amply  sup- 
plies, without  a  breach  of  those  confidences  of  home 
and  friendship,  which  no  precedent  can  justify,  and 
which  can  be  reconciled  to  the  feelings  of  an  English 
family  by  no  increase  of  public  admiration  to  an  in- 
dividual member,  by  no  craving,  however  urgent  or 
imperious,  of  the  public  taste.  With  a  request,  then, 
that  the  deficiency  thus  accounted  for  may  be  indul- 
gently borne  in  mind,  a  close  is  now  gladly  put  to 
these  prefatory  remarks,  and  the  reader's  kind  for- 
bearance bespoken  for  the  other  imperfections  of  a 
biographical  sketch,  which,  it  is  needless  to  indicate, 
has  not  been  drawn  by  the  hand  of  an  artist. 

FELICIA  DOROTHEA  BROWNE  was  born  in  Liverpool, 
on  the  25th  September,  1793.  Her  father,  a  native 
of  Ireland,  was  a  merchant  of  considerable  eminence. 
Her  mother,  whose  family  name  was  Wagner,  and 
who  was  of  mingled  Italian  and  German  descent,  was 
the  daughter  of  the  Imperial  and  Tuscan  Consul  at 
Liverpool.  The  subject  of  this  memoir  (the  fifth  of 


32  MEMOIR    OF    MRS.  HEMANS. 

seven  children,  one  of  whom  died  an  infant,)  was  dis- 
tinguished, almost  from  her  cradle,  by  extreme  beauty 
and  precocious  talents.  Before  she  had  attained  the 
age  of  seven,  her  father,  having  suffered  commercial 
reverses,  in  common  with  many  others  engaged  in 
similar  speculations  at  that  revolutionary  era,  broke 
up  his  establishment  in  Liverpool,  and  removed  with 
his  family  into  Wales,  where,  for  the  next  nine  years, 
they  resided  at  Gwrych,1  near  Abergele,  in  Denbigh- 
shire, a  large  old  mansion,  close  to  the  sea,  and  shut 
in  by  a  picturesque  range  of  mountains.  In  the  calm 
seclusion  of  this  romantic  region,  with  ample  range 
through  the  treasures  of  an  extensive  library,  the 
young  poetess  passed  a  happy  childhood,  to  which  she 
would  often  fondly  revert  amidst  the  vicissitudes  of 
her  after  life.  Here  she  imbibed  that  intense  love  of 
Nature  which  ever  afterwards  "  haunted  her  like  a 
passion,"  and  that  warm  attachment  for  the  "  green 
land  of  Wales ;"  its  affectionate,  true-hearted  people 
— their  traditions,  their  music,  and  all  their  interesting 
characteristics,  which  she  cherished  to  the  last  hours 
of  her  existence.  After  the  loss  of  her  eldest  sister, 
who  died  young,  her  education  became  the  first  care 
of  a  mother,  whose  capability  for  the  task  could  only 
be  equalled  by  her  devotedness :  whose  acquirements 
were  of  the  highest  order,  and  whose  whole  character, 
presenting  a  rare  union  of  strong  sense  with  primitive 
single-mindedness,  was  an  exemplification  of  St.  Paul's 
description  of  that  charity  which  "  suffereth  long  and 

1  The  greater  part  of  this  old  house  has  since  been  taken  down, 
and  Gwrych  Castle,  the  baronial-looking  seat  of  Lloyd  Bamford 
Ilesketh,  Esq.,  erected  on  the  opposite  height. 


MEMOIR    OF    MRS.  REMANS.  33 

is  kind,"  "  seeketh  not  her  own,"  "  thinketh  no  evil." 
Her  piety  was  sober,  steadfast,  and  cheerful ;  never 
displaying  itself  in  high-wrought  excitements  or  osten- 
tatious professions,  but  silently  influencing  every  ac- 
tion of  her  life,  and  shedding  a  perpetual  sunshine 
over  all  which  came  within  its  sphere.  How  truly 
the  love  of  this  exemplary  mother  was  returned  and 
appreciated,  may  be  traced  in  many  affecting  instan- 
ces through  the  following  pages,  from  the  artless  birth- 
day effusion  of  the  child  of  eight  years  old,  to  the 
death-bed  hymn  of  agonized  affection,1  in  the  matured 
years  of  the  daughter,  herself  a  matron  and  a  mother. 
And  when  that  love  had  been  sealed  and  sanctified 
vby  death,  still  more  fervent  are  the  yearnings  breath- 
ed forth  in  the  passionate  adjuration  to  "  the  charmed 
picture"  of  the 

'*  Sweet  face  that  o'er  her  childhood  shone ;" 

and  last  and  deepest,  and  best  of  all,  in  the  sonnet 
"  To  a  Family  Bible,"  in  which  the  mourner,  chasten- 
ed yet  consoled,  looks  back  upon  the  days  when  her 
mother's  lips  were  wont  to  breathe  forth  the  sacred 
lore  of  those  hallowed  pages,  and  meekly  and  thank- 
fully acknowledges  it  to  have  been — 

"A  seed  not  lost — for  which,  in  darker  years, 
O  Book  of  Heaven  !   I  pour,  with  grateful  tears, 
Heart  blessings  on  the  holy  dead  and  thee." 

It  may  well  be  imagined  how  the  heart  of  such  a 
mother  would  be  garnered  up  in  a  child  so  gifted  as 
the  bright  and  blooming  Felicia,  whose  extraordinary 
quickness  in  acquiring  information  of  every  kind,  was 

1  "  Hymn  by  a  bed  of  sickness,"  written  in  January,  1827. 


34  MEMOIR    OF    MRS.  HEMANS. 

not  less  remarkable  than  the  grasp  of  memory  with 
which  she  retained  it.  She  could  repeat  pages  of 
poetry  from  her  favourite  authors,  after  having  read 
them  but  once  over  ;  and  a  scarcely  less  wonderful 
faculty  was  the  rapidity  of  her  reading,  which  even 
in  childhood,  and  still  more  in  after  life,  was  such,  that 
a  bystander  would  imagine  she  wras  only  carelessly 
turning  over  the  leaves  of  a  book,  when,  in  truth,  she 
was  taking  in  the  whole  sense  as  completely  as  others 
would  do  whilst  poring  over  it  with  the  closest  atten- 
tion. One  of  her  earliest  tastes  was  a  passion  for 
Shakspeare,  which  she  read,  as  her  choicest  recrea- 
tion, at  six  years  old ;  and  in  later  days  she  would 
often  refer  to  the  hours  of  romance  she  had  passed  in 
a  secret  haunt  of  her  own — a  seat  amongst  the 
branches  of  an  old  apple-tree — where,  revelling  in 
the  treasures  of  the  cherished  volume,  she  would 
become  completely  absorbed  in  the  imaginative  world 
it  revealed  to  her.1  The  following  lines,  written  at 
eleven  years  old,  may  be  adduced  as  a  proof  of  her 
juvenile  enthusiasm. 

.  J  An  allusion  to  this  favourite  haunt  will  be  found  in  the  son- 
net called  "  Orchard  Blossoms,"  written  in  1834. 

"  Doth  some  old  nook, 

Haunted  by  visions  of  thy  first-loved  book, 

Rise  on  thy  soul,  with  faint-streaked  blossoms  white 

Showered  o'er  the  turf,  and  the  lone  primrose-knot, 

And  robin's  nest,  still  faithful  to  the  spot, 

And  the  bee's  dreamy  chime  1     O  gentle  friend ! 

The  world's  cold  breath,  not  Time's,  this  life  bereaves 

Of  vernal  gifts — Time  hallows  what  he  leaves, 

And  will  for  us  endear  spring-memories  to  the  end." 


MEMOIR    OF    MRS.  HEMANS.  35 

SHAKSPEARE. 

I  love  to  rove  o'er  history's  page, 
Recall  the  hero  and  the  sage; 
Revive  the  actions  of  the  dead, 
And  memory  of  ages  fled : 
Yet  it  yields  me  greater  pleasure, 
To  read  the  poet's  pleasing  measure. 
Led  by  Shakspeare,  bard  inspired, 
The  bosom's  energies  are  fired; 
We  learn  to  shed  the  generous  tear, 
O'er  poor  Ophelia's  sacred  bier; 
To  love  the  merry  moonlit  scene, 
With  fairy  elves  in  valleys  green ; 
Or,  borne  on  fancy's  heavenly  wings, 
To  listen  while  sweet  Ariel  sings. 
How  sweet  the  "native  woodnotes  wild" 
Of  him,  the  Muse's  favourite  child ! 
Of  him  whose  magic  lays  impart 
Each  various  feeling  to  the  heart ! 

At  about  the  age  of  eleven,  she  passed  a  winter  in 
London  with  her  father  and  mother ;  and  a  similar 
sojourn  was  repeated  in  the  following  year,  after 
which  she  never  visited  the  metropolis.  The  contrast 
between  the  confinement  of  a  town  life,  and  the  happy 
freedom  of  her  own  mountain  home,  was  even  then 
so  grateful  to  her,  that  the  indulgences  of  plays  and 
sights  soon  ceased  to  be  cared  for,  and  she  longed  to 
rejoin  her  younger  brother l  and  sister  in  their  favourite 

1  Claude  Scott  Browne,  the  brother  here  alluded  to,  who  was 
one  year  younger  than  Mrs.  Hemans,  died  at  Kingston,  in  Upper 
Canada  (where  he  was  employed  as  a  Deputy-Assistant  Com- 
missary General,)  in  1821. 

"They  grew  in  beauty,  side  by  side, 
They  fill'd  one  home  with  glee ; 
Their  graves  are  sever'd  far  and  wide, 
By  mount,  and  stream,  and  sea." 

The  Graves  of  a  Household. 


36  MEMOIR    OF    MRS.  HEMANS. 

rural  haunts  and  amusements — the  nuttery  wood,  the 
beloved  apple-tree,  the  old  arbour,  with  its  swing,  the 
post-office  tree,  in  whose  trunk  a  daily  interchange  of 
family  letters  was  established,  the  pool  where  fairy 
ships  were  launched  (generally  painted  and  decorated 
by  herself,)  and,  dearer  still,  the  fresh,  free  ramble  on 
the  sea-shore,  or  the  mountain  expedition  to  the  Sig- 
nal Station,  or  the  Roman  Encampment.  In  one  of 
her  letters,  the  pleasure  with  which  she  looked  for- 
ward to  her  return  home,  was  thus  expressed  in 
rhyme. 

WRITTEN   FROM   LONDON   TO   MY    BROTHER   AND   SISTER   IN 
THE   COUNTRY. 

Happy  soon  we'll  meet  again, 

Free  from  sorrow,  care,  and  pain; 

Soon  again  we'll  rise  with  dawn, 

To  roam  the  verdant  dewy  lawn; 

Soon  the  budding  leaves  we'll  hail, 

Or  wander  through  the  well-known  vaie; 

Or  weave  the  smiling  wreath  of  flowers ; 

And  sport  away  the  light-wing'd  hours. 

Soon  we'll  run  the  agile  race ; 

Soon,  dear  playmates,  we'll  embrace; — 

Through  the  wheat  field  or  the  grove, 

We'll,  hand  in  hand,  delighted  rove ; 

Or,  beneath  some  spreading  oak, 

Ponder  the  instructive  book; 

Or  view  the  ships  that  swiftly  glide, 

Floating  on  the  peaceful  tide; 

Or  raise  again  the  carolled  lay; 

Or  join  again  in  mirthful  play; 

Or  listen  to  the  humming  bees, 

As  their  murmurs  swell  the  breeze; 

Or  seek  the  primrose  where  it  springs; 

Or  chase  the  fly  with  painted  wings ; 


MEMOIR    OF    MRS.  HEMANS.  37 

» r  Or  talk  beneath  the  arbour's  shade  ; 

Or  mark  the  tender  shooting  blade; 
Or  stray  beside  the  babbling  stream, 
When  Luna  sheds  her  placid  beam; 
Or  gaze  upon  the  glassy  sea — 
Happy,  happy  shall  we  be ! 

Some  things,  however,  during  these  visits  to  Lon- 
don, made  an  impression  never  to  be  effaced,  and  she 
retained  the  most  vivid  recollection  of  several  of  the 
great  works  of  art  which  she  was  then  taken  to  see. 
On  entering  a  gallery  of  sculpture,  she  involuntarily 
exclaimed  —  "  Oh !  hush  !  —  don't  speak ;"  and  her 
mother  used  to  take  pleasure  in  describing  the  inte- 
rest she  had  excited  in  a  party  who  happened  to  be 
visiting  the  Marquess  of  Stafford's  collection  at  the 
same  time,  by  her  unsophisticated  expressions  of  de- 
light, and  her  familiarity  with  the  mythological  and 
classical  subjects  of  many  of  the  pictures. 

In  1808,  a  collection  of  her  poems,  w^hieh  had  long 
been  regarded  amongst  her  friends  with  a  degree  of 
admiration,  perhaps  more  partial  than  judicious,  was 
submitted  to  the  world,  in  the  form  (certainly  an  ill- 
advised  one)  of  a  quarto  volume.  Its  appearance 
drew  down  the  animadversions  of  some  self-consti- 
tuted arbiter  of  public  taste,  and  the  young  poetess 
was  thus  early  initiated  into  the  pains  and  perils  at- 
tendant upon  the  career  of  an  author ;  though  it  may 
here  be  observed,  that,  as  far  as  criticism  was  con- 
cerned, this  was  at  once  the  first  and  last  time  she 
was  destined  to  meet  with  anything  like  harshness 
or  mortification.  Though  this  unexpected  severity 
was  felt  bitterly  for  a  few  days,  her  buoyant  spirit 

VOL.  I. 4 


38  MEMOIR    OF    MRS.  HEMANS. 

soon  rose  above  it,  and  her  effusions  continued  to  be 
poured  forth  as  spontaneously  as  the  song  of  the  sky- 
lark. New  sources  of  inspiration  were  now  opening 
to  her  view.  Birthday  addresses,  songs  by  the  sea- 
shore, and  invocations  to  fairies,  were  henceforth  to 
be  diversified  with  warlike  themes;  and  trumpets  and 
banners  now  floated  through  the  dreams  in  which 
birds  and  flowers  had  once  reigned  paramount.  Her 
two  elder  brothers  had  entered  the  army  at  an  early 
age,  and  were  both  serving  in  the  23d  Royal  Welsh 
Fusiliers.  One  of  them  was  now  engaged  in  the 
Spanish  campaign  under  Sir  John  Moore ;  and  a  vivid 
imagination  and  enthusiastic  affections  being  alike 
enlisted  in  the  cause,  her  young  mind  was  filled  with 
glorious  visions  of  British  valour  and  Spanish  patriot- 
ism. In  her  ardent  view,  the  days  of  chivalry  seem- 
ed to  be  restored,  and  the  very  names  which  were  of 
daily  occurrence  in  the  despatches,  were  involuntarily 
associated  with  the  deeds  of  Roland  and  his  Paladins, 
or  of  her  own  especial  hero,  "  The  Cid  Ruy  Diaz," 
the  campeador.  Under  the  inspiration  of  these  feel- 
ings, she  composed  a  poem,  entitled  "  England  and 
Spain,"  which  was  published  and  afterwards  trans- 
lated into  Spanish.  This  cannot  but  be  considered  as 
a  very  remarkable  production  for  a  girl  of  fourteen  ; 
ofty  sentiments,  correctness  of  language,  and  histori- 
cal knowledge,  being  all  strikingly  displayed  in  it. 

The  very  time  when  her  mind  was  wrought  up  to 
this  pitch  of  romantic  enthusiasm,  was  that  which 
first  brought  to  her  acquaintance  the  person  who  was 
destined  to  exercise  so  important  an  influence  over 
her  future  life.  Captain  Hemans,  then  in  the  4th,  or 


MEMOIR    OF    MRS.  HEMANS.  39 

King's  Own  Regiment,  whilst  on  a  visit  in  the  neigh- 
bourhood, was  introduced  to  the  family  at  Gwrych, 
The  young  poetess  was  then  only  fifteen ;  in  the  full 
glow  of  that  radiant  beauty  which  was  destined  to 
fade  so  early.  The  mantling  bloom  of  her  cheeks 
was  shaded  by  a  profusion  of  natural  ringlets,  of  a 
rich  golden  brown;  and  the  ever-varying  expression 
of  her  brilliant  eyes  gave  a  changeful  play  to  her 
countenance,  which  would  have  made  it  impossible 
for  any  painter  to  do  justice  to  it.  The  recollection 
of  what  she  was  at  that  time,  irresistibly  suggests  a 
quotation  from  Wordsworth's  graceful  poetic  pic- 
ture :  — 

*'  She  was  a  phantom  of  delight, 
When  first  she  gleamed  upon  m)r  sight ; 
A  lovely  apparition,  sent 
To  be  a  moment's  ornament. 
***** 

A  dancing  shape,  an  image  gay, 
To  haunt,  to  startle,  and  waylay." 

That  so  fair  a  being  should  excite  the  warmest 
admiration,  was  not  surprising.  Perhaps  it  was  not 
more  so,  that  the  impassioned  expression  of  that  ad- 
miration should  awaken  reciprocal  feelings  in  the 
bosom  of  a  young,  artless,  and  enthusiastic  girl,  readily 
investing  him  who  professed  such  devotion,  (and  who, 
indeed,  was  by  no  means  destitute  of  advantages 
either  of  person  or  education,)  with  all  the  attributes 
of  the  heroes  of  her  dreams.  Their  intercourse  at 
this  time  was  not  of  long  continuance ;  for  Captain 
Hemans  was  called  upon  to  embark  with  his  regiment 
for  Spain ;  and  this  circumstance  was  in  itself  «uf* 


40  MEMOIR    OF    MRS.  HEMANS. 

ficient  to  complete  the  illusion  which  had  now  gained 
possession  of  her  heart.  It  was  hoped  by  the  friends 
of  both  parties,  that  the  impressions  thus  formed  might 
prove  but  a  passing  fancy,  which  time  and  distance 
would  efface ;  but  the  event  proved  otherwise,  though 
nearly  three  years  elapsed  before  they  met  again. 

In  1809,  the  family  removed  from  Gwrych  to  Bron- 
wylfa,  near  St.  Asaph,1  in  Flintshire.  Here,  though 
in  somewhat  less  of  seclusion  than  during  the  previous 
years  of  her  life,  her  mind  continued  to  develope  itself, 
and  her  tastes  and  pursuits  to  embrace  a  progressively 
wider  range.  The  study  of  the  Spanish  and  Portu- 
guese languages  was  added  to  the  already  acquired 
French  and  Italian.  She  also  read  German,  though 
it  was  not  until  many  years  later  that  she  entered 
with  full  appreciation  into  the  soul  and  spirit  of  that 
magnificent  language,  and  wrote  of  it  as  "  having 
opened  to  her  a  new  world  of  thought  and  feeling,  so 
that  even  the  music  of  the  Eichenland,2  as  Korner 
calls  it,  seemed  to  acquire  a  deeper  tone,  when  she 
had  gained  a  familiarity  with  its  noble  poetry." 

The  powers  of  her  memory  were  so  extraordinary, 
as  to  be  sometimes  made  the  subject  of  a  wager,  by 
those  who  were  sceptical  as  to  the  possibility  of  her 
achieving,  what  she  would,  in  the  most  undoubting 
simplicity,  undertake  to  perform.  On  one  of  these 
occasions,  to  satisfy  the  incredulity  of  one  of  her 
brothers,  she  learned  by  heart,  having  never  read  it 

1  This  place  was  purchased,  some  years  afterwards,  by  Mrs. 
Heman's  eldest  brother,  Colonel  Sir  Henry  Browne. 
a  Land  of  Oaks. 


MEMOIR    OF    MRS.  HEMANS.  41 

before,  the  whole  of  Heber's  poem  of  "  Europe"  in 
one  hour  and  twenty  minutes,  and  repeated  it  with- 
out a  single  mistake  or  a  moment's  hesitation.  The 
length  of  this  poem  is  four  hundred  and  twenty-four 
lines. 

She  had  a  taste  for  drawing,  which,  with  time  and 
opportunity  for  its  cultivation,  would,  doubtless,  have 
led  to  excellence ;  but  having  so  many  other  pursuits 
requiring  her  attention,  she  seldom  attempted  any- 
thing beyond  slight  sketches  in  pencil  or  Indian  ink. 
Her  correctness  of  eye,  and  the  length  and  clearness 
of  her  vision,  were  almost  as  proverbial  amongst  her 
friends  as  her  extraordinary  powers  of  memory.  She 
played  both  the  harp  and  piano  with  much  feeling 
and  expression,  and  at  this  time  had  a  good  voice, 
but  in  a  very  few  years  it  became  weakened  by  the 
frequent  recurrence  of  affections  of  the  chest,  and 
singing  was  consequently  discontinued.  Even  in  her 
most  joyous  days,  the  strains  she  preferred  were 
always  those  of  a  pensive  character.  The  most  skil- 
ful combinations  of  abstract  musical  science  did  not 
interest  or  please  her :  what  she  loved  best  were 
national  airs,  whether  martial  or  melancholy,  (amongst 
these  the  Welsh  and  Spanish  were  her  favourites), 
and  whatever  might  be  called  suggestive  music,  as 
awakening  associations  either  traditional,  local,  or 
imaginary.  There  are  ears  in  which  certain  melodies 
are  completely  identified  with  the  recollection  of  her 
peculiarly  soft  and  sostenuto  touch,  which  gave  to  the 
piano  an  effect  almost  approaching  to  the  swell  of  an 
organ.  Amongst  these  may  be  mentioned  Jomelli's 
Chaconne,  Oginsky's  well-known  Polonaise,  some  of 


42  MEMOIR    OF    MRS.  HEMANS. 

the  slow  movements  from  the  Ballet  of  Nina,  and  a 
little  touching  air  called  the  Moravian  Nun,  brought 
from  Germany  by  her  eldest  brother,  who  had  learned 
it  by  ear. 

In  after  life,  when,  like  "  a  reed  shaken  by  the 
wind,"  her  frame  had  been  shattered  by  sorrow  and 
suffering,  the  intensity  of  her  perceptions  was  such, 
that  music  became  a  painful  excitement,  and  there 
were  times  when  her  nerves  were  too  much  over- 
wrought to  bear  it.  Allusions  to  this  state  of  feeling 
are  found  in  many  of  her  poems ;  and  in  one  of  her 
letters,  referring  to  a  work  of  Richter's,  she  thus 
expresses  herself: — "  What  a  deep  echo  gives  answer 
within  the  mind  to  the  exclamation  of  the  '  immortal 
old  man'  at  the  sound  of  music.1  *  Away !  away! 

1  "  Once  in  dreams,  I  saw  a  human  being  of  heavenly  intellec- 
tual faculties,  and  his  aspirations  were  heavenly;  but  he  was 
chained,  methought,  eternally  to  the  earth.  The  immortdl  old 
man  had  five  great  wounds  in  his  happiness — five  worms  that 
gnawed  for  ever  at  his  heart.  He  was  unhappy  in  spring-time, 
because  that  is  a  season  of  hope,  and  rich  with  phantoms  of  far 
happier  days  than  any  which  this  Aceldama  of  earth  can  rea- 
lize. He  was  unhappy  at  the  sound  of  music,  which  dilates  the 
heart  of  man  with  its  whole  capacity  for  the  infinite;  and  he 
cried  aloud, — * Away  !  away  !  Thou  speakest  of  things  which, 
throughout  my  endless  life,  I  have  found  not,  and  shall  not 
find !'  He  was  unhappy  at  the  remembrance  of  earthly  affec- 
tions and  dissevered  hearts ;  for  Love  is  a  plant  which  may  bud 
in  this  life,  but  must  flourish  in  another.  He  was  unhappy 
under  the  glorious  spectacle  of  the  heavenly  host,  and  ejacu- 
lated for  ever  in  his  heart — *  So,  then,  I  am  parted  from  you  to 
all  eternity  by  an  impassable  abyss  !  the  great  universe  of  suns 
is  above,  below,  and  round  about  me,  but  I  am  chained  to  a  little 
ball  of  dust  and  ashes  !'  He  was  unhappy  before  the  great  ideas 


MEMOIR    OF    MRS.  HEMANS.  43 

thou  speakest  of  things  which,  throughout  my  endless 
life,  I  have  found  not,  and  shall  not  find ! '  All  who 
have  felt  music,  must,  at  times,  I  think,  have  felt  this, 
making  its  sweetness  too  piercing  to  be  sustained. 

Some  of  the  happiest  days  the  young  poetess  ever 
passed  were  during  occasional  visits  to  some  friends  at 
Conway,  where  the  charms  of  the  scenery,  combining 
all  that  is  most  beautiful  in  wood,  water,  and  ruin, 
are  sufficient  to  inspire  the  most  prosaic  tempera- 
ment with  a  certain  degree  of  enthusiasm ;  and  it 
may  therefore  well  be  supposed,  how  fervently  a  soul, 
constituted  like  hers,  would  worship  Nature  at  so 
fitting  a  shrine.  With  that  happy  versatility,  which 
was  at  all  times  a  leading  characteristic  of  her  mind, 
she  would  now  enter  with  child-like  playfulness  into 
the  enjoyments  of  a  mountain  scramble,  or  a  pic-nic 
water  party,  the  gayest  of  the  merry  band,  of  whom 
some  are  now,  like  herself,  laid  low,  some  far  away  in 
foreign  lands,  some  changed  by  sorrow,  and  all  by 
time ;  and  then,  in  graver  mood,  dream  away  hours 
of  pensive  contemplation  amidst  the  grey  ruins  of  that 
noblest  of  Welsh  castles,  standing,  as  it  then  did,  in 
solitary  grandeur,  unapproached  by  bridge  or  cause- 
way, flinging  its  broad  shadow  across  the  tributary 
waves  which  washed  its  regal  walls.  These  lovely 
scenes  never  ceased  to  retain  their  hold  over  the 
imagination  of  her  whose  youthful  muse  had  so  often 

of  virtue,  of  truth,  and  of  God ;  because  he  knew  how  feeble  are 
the  approximations  to  them  which  a  son  of  earth  can  make.  But 
this  was  a  dream.  God  be  thanked  that  there  is  no  such  asking 
eye  directed  upwards  towards  heaven,  to  which  Death  will  not 
one  day  bring  an  answer !" From  the  German  of  Richler. 


14  MEMOIR    OF    MRS.  HEMANS. 

celebrated  their  praises.  Her  peculiar  admiration  of 
Mrs.  Joanna  Baillie's  play  of  Ethwald  was  always 
pleasingly  associated  with  the  recollection  of  her 
having  first  read  it  amidst  the  ruins  of  Con  way  Castle. 
At  Conway,  too,  she  first  made  acquaintance  with  the 
lively  and  graphic  Chronicles  of  the  chivalrous  Frois- 
sart,  whose  inspiring  pages  never  lost  their  place  in 
her  favour.  Her  own  little  poem,  "  The  Ruin  and  its 
Flowers,"  which  will  be  found  amongst  the  earlier 
pieces  in  the  present  collection,  was  written  on  an 
excursion  to  the  old  fortress  of  Dyganwy,  the  remains 
of  which  are  situated  on  a  bold  promontory  near  the 
entrance  of  the  river  Conway ;  and  whose  ivied  walls, 
now  fast  mouldering  into  oblivion,  once  bore  their  part 
bravely  in  the  defence  of  Wales;  and  are  further 
endeared  to  the  lovers  of  song  and  tradition,  as  having 
echoed  the  complaints  of  the  captive  Elphin,  and 
resounded  to  the  harp  of  Taliesin.  A  scarcely  degene- 
rate representative  of  that  gifted  bard1  had,  at  the 
time  now  alluded  to,  his  appropriate  dwelling-place  at 
Conway ;  but  his  strains  have  long  been  silenced,  and 


1  Mr.  Edwards,  the  Harper  of  Conway,  as  he  was  generally 
called,  had  been  blind  from  his  birth,  and  was  endowed  with 
that  extraordinary  musical  genius,  by  which  persons  suffering 
under  such  a  visitation,  are  not  unfrequently  indemnified.  From 
the  respectability  of  his  circumstances,  he  was  not  called  upon  to 
exercise  his  talents  with  any  view  to  remuneration.  He  played 
to  delight  himself  and  others ;  and  the  innocent  complacency 
with  which  he  enjoyed  the  ecstasies  called  forth  by  his  skill, 
and  the  degree  of  appreciation  with  which  he  regarded  himself, 
as  in  a  manner  consecrated,  by  being  made  the  depositary  of  a 
direct  gift  from  Heaven,  were,  as  far  as  possible,  removed  from 
any  of  the  common  modifications  of  vanity  or  self-conceit 


MEMOIR    OF    MRS.  HEMANS.  45 

there  now  remain  few,  indeed,  on  whom  the  Druidical 
mantle  has  fallen  so  worthily.  In  the  days  when  his 
playing  was  heard  by  one  so  fitted  to  enjoy  its  origi- 
nality and  beauty, 

"The  minstrel  was  infirm  and  old;" 

but  his  inspiration  had  not  yet  forsaken  him;  and 
the  following  lines  (written  in  1811)  will  give  an 
idea  of  the  magic  power  he  still  knew  how  to  exer- 
cise over  the  feelings  of  his  auditors. 

TO    MR.  EDWARDS,    THE   HARPER   OF   CONWAY. 

Minstrel !  whose  gifted  hand  can  bring, 
Life,  rapture,  soul,  from  every  string; 
And  wake,  like  bards  of  former  time, 
The  spirit  of  the  harp  sublime ;  — 
Oh !  still  prolong  the  varying  strain ! 
Oh !  touch  th'  enchanted  chords  again ! 

Thine  is  the  charm,  suspending  care, 
The  heavenly  swell,  the  dying  close, 
The  cadence  melting  into  air, 
That  lulls  each  passion  to  repose. 
While  transport,  lost  in  silence  near, 
Breathes  all  her  language  in  a  tear. 

Exult,  O  Cambria!  —  now  no  more, 
With  sighs  thy  slaughtered  bards  deplore: 
What  though  Plinlimmon's  misty  brow, 
And  Mona's  woods  be  silent  now, 
Yet  can  thy  Conway  boast  a  strain, 
Unrivall'd  in  thy  proudest  reign. 

For  Genius,  with  divine  control, 
Wakes  the  bold  chord  neglected  long, 
And  pours  Expression's  glowing  soul 
O'er  the  wild  Harp,  renown'd  in  song: 


46  MEMOIR    OF    MRS.  HEMANS. 

And  Inspiration,  hovering  round, 
Swells  the  full  energies  of  sound. 

Now  Grandeur,  pealing  in  the  tone, 
Could  rouse  the  warrior's  kindling  fire, 
And  now,  'tis  like  the  breeze's  moan, 
That  murmurs  o'er  th'  Eolian  lyre: 
As  if  some  sylph,  with  viewless  wing, 
Were  sighing  o'er  the  magic  string. 

Long,  long,  fair  Conway!  boast  the  skill, 
That  soothes,  inspires,  commands,  at  will ! 
And  oh!  while  Rapture  hails  the  lay, 
Far  distant  be  the  closing  day, 
When  Genius,  Taste,  again  shall  weep, 
And  Cambria's  Harp  lie  hush'd  in  sleep ! 

Whilst  on  the  subject  of  Conway,  it  may  not  be 
amiss  to  introduce  two  little  pieces  of  a  very  different 
character  from  the  foregoing,  which  were  written  at 
the  same  place,  three  or  four  years  afterwards,  and 
will  serve  as  a  proof  of  that  versatility  of  talent 
before  alluded  to.  As  may  easily  be  supposed,  they 
were  never  intended  for  publication,  but  were  merely 
a  jeu  d' esprit  of  the  moment,  in  good-humoured  raillery 
of  the  indefatigable  zeal  and  perseverance  of  one  of 
the  party  in  his  geological  researches : — 

EPITAPH  ON  MR.  W ,  A  CELEBRATED  MINERALOGIST. 

Stop,  passenger!  a  wondrous  tale  to  list  — 
Here  lies  a  famous  Mineralogist. 
Famous  indeed !  such  traces  of  his  power, 
He's  left  from  Penmaenbach  to  Penmaenmawr, 
Such  caves,  and  chasms,  and  fissures  in  the  rocks, 
His  works  resemble  those  of  earthquake  shocks ; 


MEMOIR    OF    MRS.  HEMANS.  47 

And  future  ages  very  much  may  wonder 
What  mighty  giant  rent  the  hills  asunder, 
Or  whether  Lucifer  himself  had  ne'er 
Gone  with  his  crew  to  play  at  foot-ball  there. 


His  fossils,  flints,  and  spars,  of  every  hue, 
With  him,  good  reader,  here  lie  buried  too — 
Sweet  specimens !  which,  toiling  to  obtain, 
He  split  huge  cliifs,  like  so  much  wood,  in  twain. 
We  knew,  so  great  the  fuss  he  made  about  them, 
Alive  or  dead,  he  ne'er  would  rest  without  them, 
So,  to  secure  soft  slumber  to  his  bones, 
We  paved  his  grave  with  all  his  favourite  stones. 
His  much-loved  hammer's  resting  by  his  side  ; 
Each  hand  contains  a  shell-fish  petrified : 
His  mouth  a  piece  of  pudding-stone  incloses, 
And  at  his  feet  a  lump  of  coal  reposes : 
Sure  he  was  born  beneath  some  lucky  planet — 
His  very  coffin-plate  is  made  of  granite. 

Weep  not,  good  reader!  he  is  truly  blest 
Amidst  chalcedony  and  quartz  to  rest: 
Weep  not  for  him !  but  envied  be  his  doom, 
Whose  tomb,  though  small,  for  all  he  loved  had  room : 
And,  O  ye  rocks ! — schist,  gneiss,  whate'er  ye  be, 
Ye  varied  strata  ! — names  too  hard  for  me — i 
Sing,  "  Oh,  be  joyful !"  for  your  direst  foe, 
By  death's  fell  hammer,  is  at  length  laid  low. 

Ne'er  on  your  spoils  again  shall  W riot, 

Clear  up  your  cloudy  brows,  and  rest  in  quiet — 
He  sleeps — no  longer  planning  hostile  actions, 
As  cold  as  any  of  his  petrifactions ; 
Enshrined  in  specimens  of  every  hue, 
Too  tranquil  e'en  to  dream,  ye  rocks,  of  you. 


48  MEMOIR    OF    MRS.  HEMANS. 


EPITAPH   ON   THE    HAMMER   OF   THE    AFORESAID    MINERALOGIST. 

Here  in  the  dust,  its  strange  adventures  o'er, 
A  hammer  rests,  that  ne'er  knew  rest  before. 
Released  from  toil,  it  slumbers  by  the  side 
Of  one  who  oft  its  temper  sorely  tried ; 
No  day  e'er  pass'd,  but  in  some  desperate  strife 
He  risk'd  the  faithful  hammer's  limbs  and  life; 
Now  laying  siege  to  some  old  limestone  wall, 
Some  rock  now  battering,  proof  to  cannon-ball ; 
Now  scaling  heights  like  Alps  or  Pyrenees, 
Perhaps  a  flint,  perhaps  a  slate  to  seize; 
But,  if  a  piece  of  copper  met  his  eyes, 
He'd  mount  a  precipice  that  touch'd  the  skies, 
And  bring  down  lumps  so  precious,  and  so  many, 
I'm  sure  they  almost  would  have  made — a  penny ! 
Think,  when  such  deeds  as  these  were  daily  done, 
What  fearful  risks  this  hammer  must  have  run. 
And,  to  say  truth,  its  praise  deserves  to  shine 
In  lays  more  lofty  and  more  famed  than  mine : 
Oh!  that  in  strains  which  ne'er  should  be  forgot, 
Its  deeds  were  blazon'd  forth  by  Walter  Scott ! 
Then  should  its  name  with  his  be  closely  link'd, 
And  live  till  every  mineral  were  extinct. 
Rise,  epic  bards!  be  yours  the  ample  field — 

Bid  W 's  hammer  match  Achilles'  shield: 

As  for  my  muse,  the  chaos  of  her  brain, 

I  search  for  specimens  of  wit  in  vain ; 

Then  let  me  cease  ignoble  rhymes  to  stammer, 

And  seek  some  theme  less  arduous  than  the  hammer; 

Rememb'ring  well,  "  what  perils  do  environ" 

Woman  or  "man  that  meddles  with  cold  iron." 

About  this  time,  also,  she  wrote,  for  her  second 
brother,  the  following  Prologue  to  the  Poor  Gentle- 
man, as  intended  to  be  performed  by  the  officers  of 
the  34th  regiment  at  Clonmel :  — 


MEMOIR    OF    MRS.  HEMANS.  49 

Enter  Captain  GEORGE  BROWNE,  in  the  character  of 

CORPORAL  Foss. 

To-night,  kind  friends,  at  your  tribunal  here, 
Stands  "The  Poor  Gentleman,"  with  many  a  fear; 
Since  well  he  knows,  who  e'er  may  judge  his  cause, 
That  Poverty's  no  title  to  applause. 
Genius  or  Wit,  pray,  who'll  admire  or  quote, 
If  all  their  drapery  be  a  threadbare  coat1? 
Who,  in  a  world  where  all  is  bought  and  sold, 
Minds  a  man's  worth — except  his  worth  in  gold] 
Who'll  greet  poor  Merit  if  she  lacks  a  dinner? 
Hence,  starving  saint,  but  welcome,  wealthy  sinner ! 
Away  with  Poverty !  let  none  receive  her, 
She  bears  contagion  as  a  plague  or  fever; 
"  Bony,  and  gaunt,  and  grim" — like  jaundiced  eyes, 
Discolouring  all  within  her  sphere  that  lies. 
"Poor  Gentleman!"  and  by  poor  soldiers,  too! 
O  matchless  impudence !  without  a  sous ! 
In  scenes,  in  actors  poor,  and  what  far  worse  is, 
With  heads,  perhaps,  as  empty  as  their  purses, 
How  shall  they  dare  at  such  a  bar  appear1? 
What  are  their  tactics  and  manoeuvres  here? 

While  thoughts  like  these  come  rushing  o'er  our  mind, 
Oh!  may  we  still  indulgence  hope  to  find? 
Brave  sons  of  Erin !  whose  distinguish'd  name 
Shines  with  such  brilliance  in  the  page  of  Fame, 
And  you,  fair  daughters  of  the  Emerald  Isle!" 
View  our  weak  efforts  with  approving  smile ! 
School'd  in  rough  camps,  and  still  disdaining  art, 
111  can  the  soldier  act  a  borrowed  part; 
The  march,  the  skirmish,  in  this  warlike  age, 
Are  his  rehearsals,  and  the  field  his  stage; 
His  theatre  is  found  in  every  land, 
Where  wave  the  ensigns  of  a  hostile  band : 
Place  him  in  danger's  front — he  recks  not  where — 
Be  your  own  Wellington  his  prompter  thgre, 
VOL.  I. 5 


50  MEMOIR    OF    MRS.  HEMANS. 

And  on  that  stage,  he  trusts,  with  fearful  mien, 

He'll  act  his  part  in  glory's  tragic  scene. 

Yet  here,  though  friends  are  gaily  marshall'd  round, 

And  from  bright  eyes  alone  he  dreads  a  wound, 

Here,  though  in  ambush  no  sharpshooter's  wile 

Aims  at  his  breast,  save  hid  in  beauty's  smile; 

Though  all  unused  to  pause,  to  doubt,  to  fear, 

Yet  his  heart  sinks,  his  courage  fails  him  here. 

No  scenic  pomp  to  him  its  aid  supplies, 

No  stage  effect  of  glittering  pageantries : 

No,  to  your  kindness  he  must  look  alone, 

To  realize  the  hope  he  dares  not  own; 

And  trusts,  since  here  he  meets  no  cynic  eye, 

His  wish  to  please  may  claim  indemnity. 

And  why  despair,  indulgence  when  we  crave 
From  Erin's  sons,  the  generous  and  the  brave? 
Theirs  the  high  spirit,  and  the  liberal  thought, 
Kind,  warm,  sincere,  with  native  candour  fraught; 
Still  has  the  stranger,  in  their  social  isle, 
Met  the  frank  welcome  and  the  cordial  smile, 
And  well  their  hearts  can  share,  though  unexpress'd, 
Each  thought,  each  feeling,  of  the  soldier's  breast. 

In  1812,  another  and  much  smaller  volume,  entitled 
The  Domestic  Affections  and  other  Poems,  was  given 
to  the  world  —  the  last  that  was  to  appear  with  the 
name  of  -Felicia  Browne ;  for,  in  the  summer  of  the 
same  year,  its  author  exchanged  that  appellation  for 
the  one  under  which  she  has  become  so  much  more 
generally  known.  Captain  Hemans  had  returned  to 
Wales  in  the  preceding  year,  when  the  acquaintance 
was  renewed  which  had  begun  so  long  before  at 
Gwrych ;  and  as  the  sentiments  then  mutually  awaken- 
ed continued  unaltered,  no  further  opposition  was 
made  to  a  union,  on  which  (however  little  in  accord- 


MEMOIR    OF    MRS.  REMANS.  51 

ance  with  the  dictates  of  worldly  prudence,)  the  hap- 
piness of  both  parties  seemed  so  entirely  to  depend. 
They  soon  afterwards  took  up  their  residence  at 
Daventry,  Captain  Hemans  having  been  appointed 
Adjutant  to  the  Northamptonshire  Local  Militia.  Here 
they  remained  for  about  a  twelvemonth,  during  which 
time  their  eldest  son,  Arthur,1  was  born.  The  tran- 
sition from  her  "  own  mountain  land,"  as  she  would 
fondly  call  it,  to  a  country  so  tame  and  uninteresting 
as  the  neighbourhood  of  Daventry,  was  felt  by  Mrs. 
Hemans  to  a  degree  almost  amounting  to  the  heimweh 
(home  sickness)  of  the  Swiss.  The  only  scenery 
within  reach  of  her  new  abode,  which  excited  any 
pleasing  associations,  was  that  of  Fawsley  Park,  of 
which  the  woods  and  lawns,  the  old  Hall,  with  its 
quaint  gables  and  twisted  chimneys,  and  the  vener- 
able, ivy-mantled  church — always  retained  a  place  in 
her  "  chambers  of  imagery,"  as  presenting  a  happy 
combination  of  the  characteristic  features  of  an  old 
English  ancestral  demesne.  Her  sonnet  "  On  an 
old  Church  in  an  English  Park,"  published  in  the 
Scenes  and  Hymns  of  Life,  though  written  so  many 
years  after,  was  suggested  by  the  recollection  of  this 
scenery,  of  which  she  had  made  several  sketches. 

The  unexpected  reduction  of  the  corps  dissolving 
their  connexion  with  a  place  to  which  they  had  no 
other  ties,  Captain  Hemans  and  his  family  returned 
to  Wales  in  the  following  year,  and  became  domi- 
ciliated  at  Bronwylfa ;  from  which  time,  till  the  death 

1  This  child  of  many  hopes,  the  first  to  awaken  a  mother's 
love,  has  been  the  first  to  rejoin  her  in  the  world  beyond  the 
grave.  He  died  at  Rome,  in  February,  1837. 


52  MEMOIR    OF    MRS.  HEMANS. 

of  her  mother,  Mrs.  Hemans  was  never  again  with- 
drawn from  the  shelter  of  the  maternal  wing.1  Early 
and  deeply  was  she  taught  to  appreciate  the  blessing 
of  that  shelter — the  value  of  that  truest  and  tenderest 
friend,  "  the  mother,"  to  use  her  own  words,  "  by 
whose  unwearied  spirit  of  love  and  hope  she  was 
encouraged  to  bear  on  through  all  the  obstacles  which 
beset  her  path." 

For  several  succeeding  years,  the  life  of  Mrs.  He- 
mans  continued  to  be  a  scene  of  almost  uninterrupted 
domestic  privacy,  her  time  being  divided  between  the 
cultivation  of  her  wonted  studies,  and  the  claims  of  an 
increasing  family.  Her  five  children  were  all  sons — 
a  circumstance  which  many  persons  profess  to  have 
discovered  from  her  writings,  in  which  allusions  to  a 
mother's  love  are  so  frequent,  and  where  the  "  blessed 
child,"  so  often  apostrophised  or  described,  is  always, 
it  may  be  observed,  a  "  gentle"  or  a  "  gallant"  or  a 
"bright-haired"  boy,  whose  living  image  might  be 
found  in  the  blooming  group  around  her.  Her  eager- 
ness for  knowledge  of  every  kind  was  intense ;  and 
her  industry  may  be  attested  by  volumes,  still  existing, 
of  extracts  and  transcriptions,  almost  sufficient  to  form 
a  library  in  themselves.  The  mode  of  her  studies 
was,  to  outward  appearance,  singularly  desultory,  as 
she  would  be  surrounded  by  books  of  all  sizes,  in 
divers  languages,  and  on  every  variety  of  topic,  and 
would  seem  to  be  turning  from  one  to  another,  like 
a  bee  flying  from  flower  to  flower :  yet,  whatever 

1  Her  father  had,  some  time  before,  again  engaged  in  mercan 
tile  pursuits,  and  gone  out  to  Quebec,  where  he  died. 


MEMOIR    OF    MRS.  REMANS.  53 

confusion  might  reign  without,  all  was  clear  and 
well-defined  within.  In  her  mind  and  memory,  the 
varied  stores  were  distinctly  arranged,  ready  to  be 
called  forth  for  the  happy  illustration,  the  poetic 
imagery,  or  the  witty  comparison.  She  continued  the 
study  of  languages  with  undiminished  ardour,  and 
made  some  progress  in  the  acquisition  of  Latin.  A 
volume  of  translations  published  in  1818,  might  have 
been  called  by  anticipation,  "  Lays  of  many  Lands." 
At  the  time  now  alluded  to,  her  inspirations  were 
chiefly  derived  from  classical  subjects.  The  "  graceful 
superstitions"  of  Greece,  and  the  sublime  patriotism 
of  Rome,  held  an  influence  over  her  thoughts  which 
is  evinced  by  many  of  the  works  of  this  period — such 
as,  The  Restoration  of  the  Works  of  Art  to  Italy,1 
Modern  Greece,  and  several  of  the  poems  which 
formed  the  volume  entitled  Tales  and  Historic  Scenes. 
At  this  stage  of  transition,  "her  poetry,"  to  use 
the  words  of  a  judicious  critique,2  "  was  correct,  clas- 
sical, and  highly  polished ;  but  it  wanted  warmth :  it 
partook  more  of  the  nature  of  statuary  than  of  paint- 
ing. She  fettered  her  mind  with  facts  and  authorities, 
and  drew  upon  her  memory  when  she  might  have 

1  This  poem  is  thus  alluded  to  by  Lord  Byron,  in  one  of  his 
published  letters  to  Mr.  Murray,  dated  from  Diodati,  Sept.  30th, 
1816. 

"  Italy  or  Dalmatia  and  another  summer  may,  or  may  not,  set 
me  off  again. 

"  I  shall  take  Felicia  Hemans's  Restoration,  &c.,  with  me — it 
is  a  good  poem — very." 

2  Written  by  the  late  Miss  Jewsbury  (afterwards  Mrs.  Fletch- 
er), and  published  in  the  Athenceum  of  Feb.  12th,  1831. 

5* 


54  MEMOIR    OF    MRS.  HEMANS. 

relied  upon  her  imagination.  She  was  diffident  of 
herself,  and,  to  quote  her  own  admission,  "  loved  to 
repose  under  the  shadow  of  mighty  names."  This 
taste  by  degrees  gave  way  to  one  which  suggested  a 
choice  of  subjects  more  nearly  allied  to  the  thoughts 
and  feelings  of  daily  life.  She  turned  from  the  fables 
of  antiquity, 

"  Distinct,  but  distant  —  clear,  but  oh  !  how  cold  I" 

to  the  more  heart-warming  traditions  of  the  middle 
ages ;  imbuing  every  theme  with  the  peculiar  colour- 
ing of  her  own  mind — her  instinctive  sense  of  the 
picturesque,  and  her  intense  love  of  the  beautiful. 
Her  poetry  of  this  class  is  so  eloquently  characterised 
by  the  able  writer  of  the  article  already  referred  to, 
in  the  Dublin  University  Magazine,  that  in  no  other 
language  can  it  be  more  truly  and  gracefully  described. 
"  Tender  and  enthusiastic,  she  fed  her  heart  upon  all 
things  noble,  and  would  tolerate  no  others  as  the 
aliment  of  imagination.  She  created  for  herself  a 
world  of  high-souled  men  and  women,  whose  love  had 
no  outward  glitter,  no  surface-sparkle,  but  was  a  deep, 
overmastering  stream,  strong,  steady,  and  unbroken. 
The  men  were  made  to  hold  high  feast  on  days  of 
victory — to  lead  the  resolute  chivalry  of  freedom — to 
consecrate  banners  in  ancient  churches,  solemnized 
with  rich  evening  light — to  scale  the  walls  of  cities  or 
defend  them — to  strike  with  courage — to  endure  with 
fortitude.  The  women  to  sing  hymns  of  pensive  wor- 
ship— to  sit  in  antique  bowers,  with  open  missals  and 
attendant  maidens — to  receive  at  castle  gates  the  true- 
hearted  and  the  brave — to  rush  amid  the  spears,  and 


MEMOIR    OF    MRS.  HEMANS.  55 

receive  the  wound  meant  for  a  sterner  heart — to  clasp 
the  infant  snatched  from  peril  at  the  peril  of  life — to 
bear  uncomplaining  agonies — and,  above  all,  to  wait 
long,  long  days  for  the  deceiver  who  will  not  return  ; 
to  know  the  deadly  sickness  of  a  fading  hope,  and,  at 
last,  to  dedicate  a  broken  heart  to  him  who  has 
crushed  it.  These  are  the  people  and  the  achieve- 
ments of  her  pages ;  here  is  the  fountain  and  principle 
of  her  inspirations — Honour  deepened  and  sanctified 
by  religion." 

In  the  year  1818,  Captain  Hemans,  whose  health 
had  been  long  impaired  by  the  previous  vicissitudes 
of  a  military  life,  determined  upon  trying  the  effects  of 
a  southern  climate ;  and,  with  this  view,  repaired  to 
Rome,  which  he  was  afterwards  induced  to  fix  upon 
as  his  place  of  residence.  It  has  been  alleged,  and  with 
perfect  truth,  that  the  literary  pursuits  of  Mrs.  Hemans 
and  the  education  of  her  children,  made  it  more  eligible 
for  her  to  remain  under  the  maternal  roof,  than  to  ac- 
company her  husband  to  Italy.  It  is,  however,  unfor- 
tunately but  too  well  known,  that  such  were  not  the 
only  reasons  which  led  to  this  divided  course.  To 
dwell  on  this  subject  would  be  unnecessarily  painful, 
yet  it  must  be  stated,  that  nothing  like  a  permanent 
separation  was  contemplated  at  the  time,  nor  did  it 
ever  amount  to  more  than  a  tacit  conventional  ar- 
rangement, which  offered  no  obstacle  to  the  frequent 
interchange  of  correspondence,  nor  to  a  constant  re- 
ference to  their  father  in  all  things  relating  to  the 
disposal  of  her  boys.  But  years  rolled  on — seventeen 
years  of  absence,  and  consequently  alienation — and 
from  this  time  to  the  hour  of  her  death,  Mrs.  Hemans 


56  MEMOIR    OF    MRS.  HEMANS. 

and  her  husband  never  met  again.  In  a  position  so 
painful,  as  must  ever  be  that  of  a  woman  for  whom 
the  most  sacred  of  ties  is  thus  virtually  broken,  all 
outward  consolations  can  be  but  of  secondary  value 
yet  much  of  what  these  could  afford  was  granted  to 
Mrs.Hemans  in  the  extending  influence  of  her  talents, 
the  growing  popularity  of  her  writings,  and  the  warm 
interest  and  attachment  of  many  private  friends. 
Amongst  the  most  devoted  of  these  from  an  early 
period  of  their  acquaintance,  were  the  family  of  the 
late  Bishop  of  St.  Asaph,  the  good  and  lamented  Dr. 
Luxmore.  In  this  kind-hearted  prelate,  Mrs.  Hemans 
possessed  a  never-failing  friend  and  counsellor,  whose 
advice,  in  the  absence  of  nearer  ties,  she  at  all  times 
sought  with  affectionate  reliance,  and  whose  approba- 
tion she  valued  with  appreciating  respect.  His  pater- 
nal kindness  was  not  confined  to  herself,  but  extended 
with  equal  indulgence  to  her  children,  who  were  so 
accustomed  to  the  interest  he  would  take  in  their 
studies  and  sports,  that  they  seemed  to  consider  them- 
selves as  having  an  inherent  right  to  his  notice  and 
favour ;  and  would  talk  of  "  their  own  Bishop"  in  an 
amusing  tone  of  appropriation.  Many  years  after- 
wards, in  a  letter  from  Chiefswood,  their  mother  thus 
alludes  to  the  recollection  of  former  days :  "  I  have 
been  much  at  Abbotsford,  where  my  boys  run  in  and 
out  as  if  they  were  children  of  the  soil,  or  as  if  it 
were  <  The  Palace.'" 

The  poem  of  The  Sceptic,  published  in  1820,  was 
one  in  which  her  revered  friend  took  a  peculiar 
interest.  It  had  been  her  original  wish  to  dedicate 
it  to  him,  bu-t  he  declined  the  tribute,  thinking  H 


MEMOIR    OF    MRS.  HEMANS.  57 

might  be  more  advantageous  to  her  to  pay  this  com- 
pliment to  Mr.  Giflbrd,  with  whom  she  was  at  that 
time  in  frequent  correspondence,  and  who  entered  very 
warmly  into  her  literary  undertakings,  discussing  them 
with  the  kindness  of  an  old  friend,  and  desiring  her  to 
command  frankly  whatever  assistance  his  advice  or 
experience  could  afford.  Mrs.  Hemans,  in  the  first 
instance,  consented  to  adopt  the  suggestion  regarding 
the  altered  dedication  ;  but  was  afterwards  deterred 
from  putting  it  into  execution,  by  a  fear  that  it  might 
be  construed  into  a  manoeuvre  to  propitiate  the  good 
graces  of  the  Quarterly  Review;  and  from  the  slight- 
est approach  to  any  such  mode  of  propitiation,  hei 
sensitive  nature  recoiled  with  almost  fastidious  deli 
cacy.  Shortly  before  the  publication  of  The  Sceptic, 
her  prize  poem,  The  Meeting  of  Wallace  and  Bruce 
on  the  Banks  of  the  Carron,  had  appeared  in  Black 
wood's  Magazine1  for  September,  1819.  A  patriotic 
individual  having  signified  his  intention  of  giving 
£1000  towards  the  erection  of  a  monument  to  Sir 
William  Wallace,  and  a  prize  of  £50  for  the  best 
poem  on  the  subject  above  alluded  to,  Mrs.  Hemans 
was  recommended  by  a  zealous  friend  in  Edinburgh, 
to  enter  the  lists  as  a  competitor,  which  she  accord- 
ingly did,  though  without  being  in  the  slightest  degree 
sanguine  of  success ;  so  that  the  news  of  the  prize 
having  been  decreed  to  her  was  no  less  unexpected 
than  gratifying.  The  number  of  candidates  for  this 
distinction  wras  so  overwhelming,  as  to  cause  not  a 

1  The  stanzas  on  the  "  Death  of  the  Princess  Charlotte,"  had 
been  published  in  the  same  periodical  in  April  1818. 


58  MEMOIR    OF    MRS.  HEMANS. 

little  embarrassment  to  the  judges  appointed  to  decide 
on  their  merits.  A  letter,  written  at  the  time,  de- 
scribes them  as  being  reduced  to  absolute  despair  by 
the  contemplation  of  the  task  which  awaited  them; — 
having  to  read  over  a  mass  of  poetry  that  would 
require  at  least  a  month  to  wade  through.  Some  of 
the  contributions  were  from  the  strangest  aspirants 
imaginable ;  and  one  of  them  is  mentioned  as  being  as 
long  as  Paradise  Lost.  At  length,  however,  the  Her- 
culean labour  was  accomplished ;  and  the  honour 
awarded  to  Mrs.  Hemans  on  this  occasion,  seemed  an 
earnest  of  the  warm  kindness  and  encouragement  she 
was  ever  afterwards  to  receive  at  the  hands  of  the 
Scottish  public.  One  of  the  earliest  notices  of  The 
Sceptic  appeared  in  the  Edinburgh  Monthly  Maga- 
zine ;  and  there  is  something  in  its  tone  so  far  more 
valuable  than  ordinary  praise,  and  at  the  same  time 
so  prophetic  of  the  happy  influence  her  writings  were 
one  day  to  exercise,  that  the  introduction  of  the  con- 
cluding paragraph  may  not  be  unwelcome  to  the 
readers  of  this  little  memorial.  After  quoting  from 
the  poem,  the  reviewer  thus  proceeds :  — "  These 
extracts  must,  we  think,  convey  to  every  reader  a 
favourable  impression  of  the  talents  of  their  author, 
and  of  the  admirable  purposes  to  which  her  high  gifts 
are  directed.  It  is  the  great  defect,  as  we  imagine, 
of  some  of  the  most  popular  writers  of  the  day,  that 
they  are  not  sufficiently  attentive  to  the  moral  dignity 
of  their  performances ;  it  is  the  deep,  and  will  be  the 
lasting  reproach  of  others,  that  in  this  point  of  view 
they  have  wantonly  sought  and  realised  the  most  pro- 
found literary  abasement.  With  the  promise  of  talents 


MEMOIR    OF    MRS.  HEMANS.  59 

not  inferior  to  any,  and  far  superior  to  most  of  them, 
the  author  before  us  is  not  only  free  from  every  stain, 
but  breathes  all  moral  beauty  and  loveliness;  and  it 
will  be  a  memorable  coincidence  if  the  era  of  a 
woman's  sway  in  literature  shall  become  co-eval  with 
the  return  of  its  moral  purity  and  elevation."1  From 
suffrages  such  as  these,  Mrs.  Hemans  derived  not 
merely  present  gratification,  but  encouragement  and 
cheer  for  her  onward  course.  It  was  still  dearer  to 
her  to  receive  the  assurances,  with  which  it  often 
fell  to  her  lot  to  be  blessed,  of  having,  in  the  exer- 
cise of  the  talents  intrusted  to  her,  administered  balm 
to  the  feelings  of  the  sorrowful,  or  taught  the  despond- 
ing where  to  look  for  comfort.  In  a  letter  written  at 
this  time  to  a  valued  friend,  recently  visited  by  one  of 
the  heaviest  of  human  calamities — the  loss  of  an  ex- 
emplary mother — she  thus  describes  her  own  appre- 
ciation of  such  heart-tributes.  "  It  is  inexpressibly 
gratifying  to  me  to  know,  that  you  should  find  anything 
I  have  written  at  all  adapted  to  }rour  present  feelings, 
and  that  The  Sceptic  should  have  been  one  of  the  last 

1  "  It  is  pleasing  to  record  the  following  tribute  from  Mrs. 
Hannah  More,  in  a  letter  to  a  friend  who  had  sent  her  a  copy 
of  The  Sceptic.  *I  cannot  refuse  myself  the  gratification  of 
saying,  that  I  entertain  a  very  high  opinion  of  Mrs.  Hemans's 
superior  genius  and  refined  taste.  I  rank  her,  as  a  poet,  very 
high,  and  I  have  seen  no  work  on  the  subject  of  her  Modern 
Greece^  which  evinces  more  just  views,  or  more  delicate  per- 
ceptions of  the  fine  and  the  beautiful.  I  am  glad  she  has  em- 
ployed her  powerful  pen,  in  this  new  instance,  on  a  subject  so 
worthy  of  it ;  and  anticipating  the  future  by  the  past,  I  promise 
myself  no  small  pleasure  in  the  perusal,  and  trust  it  will  not 
only  confer  pleasure,  but  benefit.1  " 


60  MEMOIR    OF    MRS.  HEMANS. 

books  upon  which  the  eyes,  now  opened  upon  brighter 
scenes,  were  cast.  Perhaps,  when  your  mind  is  suffi- 
ciently composed,  you  will  inform  me  which  were  the 
passages  distinguished  by  the  approbation  of  that  pure 
and  pious  mind :  they  will  be  far  more  highly  valued 
by  me  than  anything  I  have  ever  written." 

The  sentiments  expressed  in  the  same  letter  on  the 
subject  of  Affliction,  its  design  and  influence,  are  so 
completely  a  part  of  herself,  that  it  would  seem  an 
omission  to  withhold  them.  They  are  embodied  in 
the  following  words: — "Your  ideas  respecting  the 
nature  and  degree  of  sorrow  for  the  departed,  per- 
mitted us  by  that  religion  which  seems  to  speak  with 
the  immediate  voice  of  Heaven  to  affliction,  coincide 
perfectly  with  my  own.  I  have  been  hitherto  spared 
a  trial  of  this  nature,  but  I  have  often  passed  hours 
in  picturing  to  myself  what  would  be  the  state  of  my 
mind  under  such  a  visitation.  I  am  convinced,  that 
though  grief  becomes  criminal  when  it  withdraws  us 
from  the  active  duties  of  life,  yet  that  the  wounds 
made  by  "  the  arrows  of  the  Almighty"  are  not  meant 
to  be  forgotten.  If  He  who  chastens  those  whom  He 
loves,  means,  as  we  cannot  doubt,  by  such  inflictions 
to  recall  the  Spirit  to  Himself,  and  prepare  the  mortal 
for  immortality,  the  endeavour  to  obliterate  such  re 
collections  is  surely  not  less  in  opposition  to  His  inten- 
tions, than  the  indulgence  of  that  rebellious  grief, 
which  repines  as  if  its  own  sufferings  were  an  excep- 
tion to  the  general  mercies  of  Heaven.  Life  is  but 
too  dear  to  us,  even  \vith  all  its  precarious  joys  and 
heavy  calamities;  and  constituted  even  as  it  is,  we 
can  hardly  keep  our  minds  fixed  upon  a  brighter  state 


MEMOIR    OF    MRS.  HEMANS.  61 

with  any  degree  of  steadiness.  What  would  it,  then, 
be,  if  we  were  not  continually  reminded  that  "  our  all 
does  not  lie  here ;"  and  if  the  loss  of  some  beloved 
friend  did  not  constantly  summon  our  wandering 
thoughts  from  the  present  to  the  future  ?  I  was  so 
struck,  a  few  days  ago,  with  the  concluding  passage 
in  the  Memoirs  of  Mrs.  Brunton,  that  I  will  not  apolo- 
gize for  transcribing  part  of  it,  as  I  am  sure  you  will 
feel  its  beautiful  and  affecting  coincidence.  It  is  from 
a  Funeral  Sermon  on  the  Death  of  the  Righteous : — 
"  Let  me  exhort  you,  as  you  would  rise  superior  to 
the  fear  of  death,  to  cherish  the  memory  of  those 
who  have  already  passed  from  the  society  of  the  few 
who  were  most  dear  to  them  on  earth,  to  the  society 
of  the  blessed  in  Heaven.  How  unnatural  seems  to 
be  the  conduct  of  many,  whose  consolation  for  the  loss 
of  a  departed  friend,  appears  to  depend  upon  com- 
mitting his  name  to  oblivion  !  —  who  appear  to  shrink 
from  every  object  that  would  for  a  moment  bring  to 
their  recollection  the  delight  they  once  felt  in  his 
society !  If  such  conduct  be,  in  any  respect,  excu- 
sable, it  can  only  be  in  the  case  of  those  who  have  no 
hope  in  God.  There  are  few,  if  any,  among  us,  who 
have  not,  ere  now,  committed  to  the  tomb  the  remains 
of  some  who  had  been,  not  only  long,  but  deservedly 
dear  to  us ;  whose  virtues  are  in  consequence  a  satis- 
fying pledge,  that  they  have  only  gone  before  us  to 
the  mansions  of  bliss.  Some  of  us  have  but  recently 
laid  in  the  grave  all  that  was  mortal  and  perishing, 
of  one  who  may  well  continue  to  live  in  our  remem- 
brance— whose  memory  will  be  a  monitor  to  us  of 
those  virtues,  which  may  qualify  us  for  being  re-uni- 
VOL.  I. 6 


62  MEMOIR    OF    MRS.  HEMANS. 

ted  to  her  society.  Though  the  body  mingle  with  the 
dust,  the  spirit,  in  this  case,  '  yet  spcaketh ;'  it  invites, 
and,  I  trust,  enables  us  to  anticipate  more  effectually 
on  earth  our  intercourse  with  the  spirits  of  the  just 
in  heaven.  Great  cause  we,  no  doubt,  have  to  mourn 
over  that  dispensation  of  Providence,  which  has,  in 
the  mean  while,  removed  from  the  sphere  of  our  con- 
verse on  earth,  one,  from  whose  converse  we  had  so 
invariably  derived  at  once  instruction  and  delight;  — 
whose  piety  was  so  genuine,  that,  while  never  osten- 
tatiously displayed,  it  was,  as  little,  in  any  case  dis- 
guised,— whose  mental  energies  communicated  such  a 
character  and  effect  to  both  her  piety  and  her  active 
beneficence,  that  they  often  served  the  purpose  of  an 
example  to  others,  when  such  a  purpose  was  not  con- 
templated by  her.  Not  to  mourn  over  a  dispensation 
of  Providence,  which  has  deprived  us  of  such  a  bless- 
ing, would  be  incompatible  with  the  design  of  Provi- 
dence in  visiting  us  with  such  a  cause  of  affliction. 
But  God  forbid  that  we  should  sorrow  as  those  who 
have  no  hope  of  being  re-united  in  heaven  to  those 
who  have  been  dear  to  them  on  earth  !  God  forbid 
that  we  should  be  unwilling  in  our  hearts  to  conform 
to  the  design  of  Providence,  when,  by  removing  from 
us  those  who  have  been  the  objects  of  our  regard  in 
this  world,  it  would,  in  some  sense,  unite  earth  to 
heaven,  by  gradually  weaning  us  from  the  world,  and 
gradually  transferring  our  hearts  to  heaven,  before  we 
have  altogether  completed  the  appointed  years  of  our 
pilgrimage  on  earth  !  Let  a  view  of  our  condition,  as 
the  heirs  of  heaven,  so  elevate  our  minds,  as  to  make 
us  now  join,  with  one  heart,  in  the  language  of  our 


MEMOIR    OF    MRS.  HEMANS.  63 

Christian    triumph  —  <O  death!  where  is  thy  sting? 

0  grave  !  where  is  thy  victory  V  ' 

In  a  subsequent  letter  to  the  same  friend,  and  in 
pursuance  of  the  same  subject,  there  is  the  following 
allusion  to  a  poem,  which  Mrs.  Hemans  had  even 
then  begun  to  appreciate,  though  her  more  perfect 
and  "  reverential  communion"  with  the  spirit  of  its 
author  was  reserved  for  later  years.  "  You  may 
remember  that  I  was  reading  Wordsworth's  Excur- 
sion some  time  before  you  left  the  country.  I  was 
much  struck  with  the  beauty  and  sublimity  of  some 
of  the  religious  passages  it  contains;  and  in  looking 
over  the  copious  extracts  I  made  from  it,  I  observe 
several,  which  I  think  will  interest  you  exceedingly. 

1  mean  to  copy  them  out,  and  send  them  to  you  in  a 
few  days:  the  mingled    strain   of  exalted   hope  and 
Christian  resignation,  in  which  the  poet  speaks  of  de- 
parted friends,  struck  me  so  forcibly,  that  I  thought 
when  I  transcribed  it,  how  soothingly  it  would  speak 
to  the  heart  of  any  one  who  had  to  deplore  the  loss 
of  some  beloved  object." 

In  the  spring  of  1820,  Mrs.  Hemans  first  made  the 
acquaintance  of  one  who  became  afterwards  a  zeal- 
ous and  valuable  friend,  revered  in  life,  and  sincerely 
mourned  in  death — Bishop  Heber,  then  Rector  of 
Hodnet,  and  a  frequent  visiter  at  Bodryddan,  the  resi- 
dence of  his  father-in-law,  the  late  Dean  of  St.  Asaph, 
from  whom  also,  during  an  intercourse  of  many  years, 
Mrs.  Hemans  at  all  times  received  much  kindness  and 
courtesy.  Mr.  Reginald  Heber  was  the  first  eminent 
literary  character  with  whom  she  had  ever  familiarly 
associated  ;  and  she  therefore  entered  with  a  peculiar 


04  MEMOIR    OF    MRS.  HEMANS. 

freshness  of  feeling  into  the  delight  inspired  by  his 
conversational  powers,  enhanced  as  they  were  by  that 
gentle  benignity  of  manner,  so  often  the  characteristic 
of  minds  of  the  very  highest  order.  In  a  letter  to  a 
friend  on  this  occasion,  she  thus  describes  her  enjoy- 
ment : — "  I  am  more  delighted  with  Mr.  Heber  than  I 
can  possibly  tell  you ;  his  conversation  is  quite  rich 
with  anecdote,  and  every  subject  on  which  he  speaks 
had  been,  you  would  imagine,  the  sole  study  of  his 
life.  In  short,  his  society  has  made  much  the  same 
sort  of  impression  on  my  mind,  that  the  first  perusal 
of  Ivankoe  did ;  and  was  something  so  perfectly  new 
to  me,  that  I  can  hardly  talk  of  anything  else.  I  had 
a  very  long  conversation  with  him  on  the  subject  of 
the  poem,  which  he  read  aloud,  and  commented  upon 
as  he  proceeded.  His  manner  was  so  entirely  that  of 
a  friend,  that  I  felt  perfectly  at  ease,  and  did  not  hesi- 
tate to  express  all  my  own  ideas  and  opinions  on  the 
subject,  even  where  they  did  not  exactly  coincide 
with  his  own," 

The  poem  here  alluded  to  was  the  one  entitled 
Superstition  and  Revelation,  which  Mrs,  Hemans  had 
commenced  some  time  before,  and  which  was  intended 
to  embrace  a  very  extensive  range  of  subject.  Her 
original  design  will  be  best  given  in  her  own  words, 
from  a  letter  to  her  friend  Miss  Park  : — "  I  have  been 
thinking  a  good  deal  of  the  plan  we  discussed  together, 
of  a  poem  on  national  superstitions.  '  Our  thoughts 
are  linked  by  many  a  hidden  chain ;'  and  in  the  course 
of  my  lucubrations  on  this  subject,  an  idea  occurred 
to  me,  which  I  hope  you  will  not  think  me  too  pre- 
sumptuous in  wishing  to  realize.  Might  not  a  poem 


MEMOIR    OF    MRS.  IIEMANS.  G5 

of  some  extent  and  importance,  if  the  execution  were 
at  all  equal  to  the  design,  be  produced,  from  contrast- 
ing the  spirit  and  tenets  of  Paganism  with  those  of 
Christianity  ?  It  would  contain,  of  course,  much  clas- 
sical allusion;  and  all  the  graceful  and  sportive  fictions 
of  ancient  Greece  and  Italy,  as  well  as  the  supersti- 
tions of  more  barbarous  climes,  might  be  introduced 
to  prove  how  little  consolation  they  could  convey  in 
the  hour  of  affliction,  or  hope,  in  that  of  death.  Many 
scenes  from  history  might  be  portrayed  in  illustration 
of  this  idea ;  and  the  certainty  of  a  future  state,  and 
of  the  immortality  of  the  soul,  which  we  derive  from 
revelation,  are  surely  subjects  for  poetry  of  the  highest 
class.  Descriptions  of  those  regions  which  are  still 
strangers  to  the  blessings  of  our  religion,  such  as  the 
greatest  part  of  Africa,  India,  &c.,  might  contain 
much  that  is  poetical ;  but  the  subject  is  almost  bound- 
less, and  I  think  of  it  till  I  am  startled  by  its  magni- 
tude." 

Mr.  Heber  approved  highly  of  the  plan  of  the  work, 
and  gave  her  every  encouragement  to  proceed  in  it ; 
supplying  her  with  many  admirable  suggestions,  both 
as  to  the  illustrations  which  might  be  introduced  with 
the  happiest  effect,  and  the  sources  from  whence  the 
requisite  information  would  best  be  derived.  But  the 
great  labour  and  research  necessary  to  the  develop- 
ment of  a  plan  which  included  the  superstitions  of 
every  age  and  country,  from  the  earliest  of  all  idol- 
atries— the  adoration  of  the  sun,  moon,  and  host  of 
heaven,  alluded  to  in  the  book  of  Job — to  the  still 
existing  rites  of  the  Hindoos — would  have  demanded 
a  course  of  study  too  engrossing  to  be  compatible  with 
0* 


6G  MEMOIR    OF    MRS.  HEMANS. 

the  many  other  claims,  both  domestic  and  literary 
which  daily  pressed  more  and  more  upon  the  author's 
time.  The  work  was,  therefore,  laid  aside ;  and  the 
fragment  now  first  published,  is  all  that  remains  of  it, 
though  the  project  was  never  distinctly  abandoned. 
About  this  time,  Mrs.  Hemans  was  an  occasional  con- 
tributor to  the  Edinburgh  Monthly  Magazine,  then 
conducted  by  the  Rev.  Robert  Morehead,  whose  liberal 
courtesy  in  the  exercise  of  his  editorial  office,  asso- 
ciated many  agreeable  recollections  with  the  period 
of  this  literary  intercourse.  Several  of  her  poems 
appeared  in  the  above-mentioned  periodical,  as  also  a 
series  of  papers  on  foreign  literature,  which,  with  very 
few  exceptions,  were  the  only  prose  compositions  she 
ever  gave  to  the  world ;  and,  indeed,  to  these  papers 
such  a  distinctive  appellation  is  perhaps  scarcely  appli- 
cable ;  as  the  prose  writing  may  be  considered  subor- 
dinate to  the  poetical  translations,  which  it  is  used  to 
introduce.  Much  has  been  said  of  the  retirement  in 
which  this  part  of  Mrs.  Hemans's  life  was  passed ;  but 
perhaps  the  best  idea  of  it  may  be  formed  from  her 
own  words,  in  a  letter  written  in  October  1820,  during 
a  visit  she  was  paying  to  a  happy  home  circle,  at 
Waver  tree  Lodge,  near  Liverpool,  the  family  of  the 
late  Henry  Park,  Esq,,  whose  life  of  unwearied  be- 
nevolence and  scientific  distinction,  was  then,  like  the 
rgolden  sunset  of  a  long  bright  day,  calmly  drawing 
towards  its  close,  in  the  fullest  enjoyment  of 

"That  which  should  accompany  old  age, 
As  Honour,  Love,  Obedience,  troops  of  friends ;" 

amongst  which  friends  none  were  more  favoured  or 


MEMOIR    OF    MRS.  HEMANS.  67 

more  attached  than  Mrs.  Hemans  herself.  "  I  cannot 
tell  you  how  much  I  have  enjoyed  the  novelty  of  all 
the  objects  around  me.  The  pastoral  seclusion  and 
tranquillity  of  the  life  I  have  led  for  the  last  seven  or 
eight  years,  had  left  my  mind  in  that  state  of  blissful 
ignorance  particularly  calculated  to  render  every  new 
impression  an  agreeable  one ;  and  accordingly,  gas- 
lights, steam-boats,  Mr.  Kean,  casts  from  the  Elgin 
marbles,  and  tropical  plants  in  the  Botanic  Garden, 
have  all,  in  turn,  been  the  objects  of  my  wondering 
admiration.  I  saw  Kean  in  two  characters,  Richard 
the  Third,  and  Othello,  and  can  truly  say,  I  felt  as  if 
I  had  never  understood  Shakspeare  till  then.  I  shall 
never  forget  the  sort  of  electric  light  which  seemed  to 
flash  across  my  mind  from  the  bursts  of  power  he  dis- 
played in  several  of  my  favourite  passages." 

It  was  either  during  the  present,  or  a  future  visit 
to  the  same  friends,  that  the  jeu  d  'esprit  was  pro- 
duced, which  Mrs.  Hemans  used  to  call  her  "  sheet 
of  forgeries"  on  the  use  of  the  word  Barb.  A  gen- 
tleman had  requested  her  to  furnish  him  with  some 
authorities  from  the  old  English  writers,  proving  that 
this  term  was  in  use  as  applied  to  a  steed.  She  very 
shortly  supplied  him  with  the  following  imitations, 
which  were  written  down  almost  impromptu:  the 
mystification  succeeded  perfectly,  and  was  not  dis- 
covered until  some  time  afterwards: — 

The  warrior  donn'd  his  well-worn  garb, 

And  proudly  waved  his  crest, 
He  mounted  on  his  jet-black  barb, 

And  put  his  lance  in  rest. 

PERCY'S  Reliques. 


68  MEMOIR    OP    MRS.  HEMANS. 

Eftsoons  the  wight,  withouten  more  delay, 
Spurr'd  his  brown  barb  and  rode  full  swiftly  on  his  way. 

SPENSER. 


Hark !  was  it  not  the  trumpet's  voice  I  heard  1 
The  soul  of  battle  is  awake  within  me! 
The  fate  of  ages  and  of  empires  hangs 
On  this  dread  hour.     Why  am  I  not  in  arms ! 
Bring  my  good  lance,  caparison  my  steed ! 
Base,  idle  grooms!  are  ye  in  league  against  me? 
Haste  with  my  barb,  or  by  the  holy  saints, 
Ye  shall  not  live  to  saddle  him  to-morrow! 

MASSINGER.1 

No  sooner  had  the  pearl-shedding  fingers  of  the  young  Aurora 
tremulously  unlocked  the  oriental  portals  of  the  golden  horizon, 
than  the  graceful  flower  of  chivalry,  and  the  bright  cynosure  of 
ladies'  eyes — he  of  the  dazzling  breast-plate  and  swanlike  plume 
—  sprang  impatiently  from  the  couch  of  slumber,  and  eagerly 
mounted  the  noble  barb  presented  to  him  by  the  Emperor  of 
Aspramontania. 

SIR  PHILIP  SIDNEY'S  Arcadia. 

See'st  thou  yon  chief  whose  presence  seems  to  rule 
The  storm  of  battle  1     Lo !  where'er  he  moves 
Death  follows.     Carnage  sits  upon  his  crest — 
Fate  on  his  sword  is  throned — and  his  white  barb, 
As  a  proud  courser  of  Apollo's  chariot, 
Seems  breathing  fire. 

POTTER'S  JEschylus. 

1  An  amusing  proof  of  the  success  of  this  imitation  has  re- 
cently appeared,  in  the  selection  of  the  first  four  lines  of  this 
passage  for  a  motto  to  one  of  the  chapters  of  Mr.  Cooper's 
"  Homeward  Bound,"  where  they  are  given  as  a  real  quotation 
from  Massinger. 


MEMOIR    OF    MRS.  REMANS.  69 

Oh !  bonnie  look'd  my  ain  true  knight, 

His  barb  so  proudly  reining ; 
I  watch'd  him  till  my  tearfu'  sight 

Grew  amaist  dim  wi'  straining. 

Border  Minstrelsy. 

Why,  he  can  heel  the  lavolt  and  wind  a  fiery  barb  as  well  as 
any  gallant  in  Christendom.  He's  the  very  pink  and  mirror  of 
accomplishment. 

SHAKSPEARE. 

Fair  star  of  beauty's  heaven !  to  call  thee  mine, 

All  other  joys  I  joyously  would  yield  ; 
My  knightly  crest,  my  bounding  barb  resign, 

For  the  poor  shepherd's  crook  and  daisied  field ; 
For  courts,  or  camps,  no  wish  my  soul  would  prove, 
So  thou  wouldst  live  with  me  and  be  my  love! 

EARL  OF  SURREY'S  Poems. 

For  thy  dear  love  my  weary  soul  hath  grown 
Heedless  of  youthful  sports :  I  seek  no  more 

Or  joyous  dance,  or  music's  thrilling  tone, 

Or  joys  that  once  could  charm  in  minstrel  lore, 

Or  knightly  tilt  where  steel-clad  champions  meet, 

Borne  on  impetuous  barbs  to  bleed  at  beauty's  feet. 

SHAKSPEARE'S  Sonnets. 

As  a  warrior  clad 
In  sable  arms,  like  chaos  dull  and  sad, 

But  mounted  on  a  barb  as  white 

As  the  fresh  new-born  light, — 

So  the  black  night  too  soon 
Came  riding  on  the  bright  and  silver  moon, 

Whose  radiant  heavenly  ark, 
Made  all  the  clouds  beyond  her  influence  seem 

E'en  more  than  doubly  dark, 
Mourning,  all  widowed  of  her  glorious  beam. 

COWLEV. 


70  MEMOIR    OF    MRS.  HEMANS. 

Amongst  the  very  few  specimens  that  have  been 
preserved  of  Mrs.  Hemans's  livelier  effusions,  which 
she  never  wrote  with  any  other  view  than  the  mo- 
mentary amusement  of  her  own  immediate  circle,  is 
a  letter  addressed  about  this  time  to  her  sister,  who 
was  then  travelling  in  Italy.  The  following  extracts 
from  this  familiar  epistle  may  serve  to  show  her 
facility  in  a  style  of  composition  which  she  latterly 
entirely  discontinued.  The  first  part  alludes  to  a 
strange  fancy  produced  by  an  attack  of  fever,  the 
description  of  which  had  given  rise  to  many  pleasant- 
ries— being  an  imaginary  voyage  to  China,  performed 
in  a  cocoa-nut  shell,  with  that  eminent  old  English 
worthy,  John  Evelyn:  — 

Apropos  of  your  illness,  pray  give,  if  you  please, 
Some  account  of  the  converse  you  held  on  High  Seas, 
With  Evelyn,  the  excellent  author  of  "  Sylva," 
A  work  that  is  very  much  prized  at  Bronwylfa. 
I  think  that  old  Neptune  was  visited  ne'er 
In  so  well-rigged  a  ship,  by  so  well-matched  a  pair. 
There  could  not  have  fallen,  dear  H.,  to  your  lot  any 
Companion  more  pleasant,  since  you're  fond  of  Botany, 
And  his  horticultural  talents  are  known, 
Just  as  well  as  Canova's  for  fashioning  stone. 

Of  the  vessel  you  sailed  in,  I  just  will  remark, 
That  I  ne'er  heard  before  of  so  curious  a  bark. 
Of  Gondola,  Coracle,  Pirogue,  Canoe, 
I  have  read  very  often,  as  doubtless  have  you: 
Of  the  Argo,  conveying  that  hero,  young  Jason ; 
Of  the  ship  moored  by  Trajan  in  Nemi's  deep  basin; 
Of  the  galley,  (in  Plutarch  you'll  find  the  description,) 
Which  bore  along  Cydnus  the  royal  Egyptian ; 


MEMOIR    OF    MRS.  HEMANS.  71 


na,"  j 
a.      3 


Of  that  wonderful  frigate  (see  "  Curse  of  Kehama,"  • 
Which  wafted  fair  Kailyal  to  regions  of  Brama, 
And  the  venturous  barks  of  Columbus  and  Gama. 
But  Columbus  and  Gama  to  you  must  resign  a 
Full  half  of  their  fame,  since  your  voyage  to  China, 
(I'm  astonished  no  shocking  disaster  befel,) 
In  that  swift-sailing  first-rate — a  cocoa-nut  shell ! 

I  hope,  my  dear  H.,  that  you  touched  at  Loo  Choo,  ^ 
That  abode  of  a  people  so  gentle  and  true, 
Who  with  arms  and  with  money  have  nothing  to  do.  j 
How  calm  must  their  lives  be!  —  so  free  from  all  fears, 
Of  running  in  debt,  or  of  running  on  spears ! 
Oh  dear!  what  an  Eden!  —  a  land  without  money! 
It  excels  e'en  the  region  of  milk  and  of  honey, 
Or  the  Vale  of  Cashmere,  as  described  in  a  book, 
Full  of  musk,  gems  and  roses,  and  called  "  Lalla  Rookh." 

But  of  all  the  enjoyments  you  have,  none  would  e'er  be 
More  valued  by  me,  than  a  chat  with  Acerbi, 
Of  whose  travels,  related  in  elegant  phrases, 
I  have  seen  many  extracts,  and  heard  many  praises, 
And  have  copied  (you  know  I  let  nothing  escape), 
His  striking  account  of  the  frozen  North  Cape. 
I  think  'twas  in  his  works  I  read  long  ago, 
(I've  not  the  best  memory  for  dates,  as  you  know), 
Of  a  warehouse,  where  sugar  and  treacle  were  stored, 
Which  took  fire  (I  suppose  being  made  but  of  board) 
In  the  icy  domains  of  some  rough  northern  hero, 
Where  the  cold  was  some  fifty  degrees  below  zero. 
Then  from  every  burnt  cask  as  the  treacle  ran  out, 
And  in  streams,  just  like  lava,  meandered  about, 
You  may  fancy  the  curious  effect  of  the  weather, 
The  frost,  and  the  fire,  and  the  treacle  together. 
When  my  first  for  a  moment  had  hardened  my  last, 
My  second  burst  out,  and  all  melted  as  fast; 
To  win  their  sweet  prize  long  the  rivals  fought  on, 
But  I  quite  forget  which  of  the  elements  won. 


72  MEMOIR    OF    MRS.  HEMANS. 

But  a  truce  with  all  joking  —  I  hope  you'll  excuse  me, 
Since  I  know  you  still  love  to  instruct  and  amuse  me, 
For  hastily  putting  a  few  questions  down, 
To  which  answers  from  you  all  my  wishes  will  crown: 
For  you  know  I'm  so  fond  of  the  land  of  Corinne, 
That  my  thoughts  are  still  dwelling  its  precincts  within, 
And  I  read  all  that  authors,  or  gravely,  or  wittily, 
Or  wisely,  or  foolishly,  write  about  Italy; 
From  your  shipmate,  John  Evelyn's,  amusing  old  tour, 
To  Forsyth's  one  volume,  and  Eustace's  four, 
In  spite  of  Lord  Byron,  or  Hobhouse,  who  glances 
At  the  classical  Eustace,  and  says  he  romances. 

Pray  describe  me  from  Venice  (don't  think  it  a  bore) 
The  literal  state  of  the  famed  Bucentaur ; 
And  whether  the  horses,  that  once  were  the  sun's, 
Are  of  bright  yellow  brass,  or  of  dark  dingy  bronze, 
For  some  travellers  say  one  thing,  and  some  say  another, 
And  I  can't  find  out  which,  they  all  make  such  a  pother. 
Oh!  another  thing  too,  which  I'd  nearly  forgot, 
Are  the  songs  of  the  Gondoliers   pleasing  or  not? 
These  are  matters  of  moment,  you'll  surely  allow, 
For  Venice  must  interest  all,  even  now. 

These  points  being  settled,  I  ask  for  no  more  hence, 
But  should  wish  for  a  few  observations  from  Florence. 
Let  me  know  if  the  Palaces  Strozzi  and  Pitti 
Are  finished  —  if  not  't  is  a  shame  for  the  city, 
To  let  one  for  ages  —  was  e'er  such  a  thing?  — 
Its  entablature  want,  and  the  other  its  wing. 
Say,  too,  if  the  Dove  (should  you  be  there  at  Easter, 
And  watch  her  swift  flight,  when  the  priests  have  released  her), 
Is  a  turtle,  or  ring-dove,  or  but  a  wood-pigeon, 
Which  makes  people  gulls,  in  the  name  of  Religion  ? 
Pray  tell,  if  the  forests  of  famed  Vallombrosa 
Are  cut  down  or  not,  for  this,  too,  is  a  Cosa 
About  which  I'm  anxious  —  as  also  to  know 
If  the  Pandects,  so  famous  long  ages  ago, 


MEMOIR    OF    MRS.  HEMANS.  73 

Game  back,  (above  all,  don't  forget  this  to  mention) 
To  that  manuscript  library  called  the  Laurentian. 

Since  I  wrote  the  above,  I,  by  chance,  have  found  out, 
That  the  horses  are  bright  yellow  brass,  beyond  doubt; 
So  I'll  ask  you  but  this,  the  same  subject  pursuing, 
Do  you  think  they  are  truly  Lysippus's  doing? 

When  to  Naples  you  get,  let  me  know  if  you  will, 
If  the  Acqua  Toffana's  in  fashion  there  still, 
For,  not  to  fatigue  you  with  needless  verbosity, 
'Tis  a  point  upon  which  I  feel  much  curiosity. 
I  should  like  to  have  also,  and  not  written  shabbily, 
Your  opinion  about  the  Piscina  mirabile; 
And  whether  the  tomb,  which  is  near  Sannazaro's, 
Is  decided  by  you  to  be  really  Maro's. 

In  June  1821,  Mrs.  Hemans  obtained  the  prize 
awarded  by  the  Royal  Society  of  Literature  for  the 
best  poem  on  the  subject  of  Dartmoor.  On  this  occa- 
sion, as  on  every  other,  her  chief  enjoyment  of  success 
was  derived  from  the  happiness  it  created  in  those 
around  her.  That  "  Fame  can  only  afford  reflected 
delight  to  a  woman,"  was  a  sentiment  she  unceasingly 
felt  and  expressed;  and  she  never  was  more  truly  her- 
self than  in  writing  to  Miss  Mitford.  "  Do  you  know 
that  I  often  think  of  you,  and  of  the  happiness  you 
must  feel  in  being  able  to  run  to  your  father  and 
mother  with  all  the  praises  you  receive."  In  the 
"  kind,  approving  eye,"  the  "  meek,  attentive  ear"  of 
her  own  fond  mother,  she  possessed  a  source  of  pure 
happiness,  too  soon,  alas  !  withdrawn.  When  absent 
from  her  brothers  and  sister,  almost  the  first  thought 
that  would  occur  to  her,  on  occasions  like  the  present, 
was  a  longing  impatience  for  them  to  hear  of  her  good 

VOL.  I. 7 


74  MEMOIR    OF    MRS.  REMANS. 

fortune  ;  and  the  tumultuous  exultation  of  her  boys, 
was  a  far  dearer  tribute  than  the  praise  of  the  might- 
iest critic.  On  hearing  of  the  success  of  Dartmoor, 
she  thus  wrote  to  the  friends  who  had  been  the  first  to 
communicate  it  to  her. 

"What  with  surprise,  bustle,  and  pleasure,  I  am 
really  almost  bewildered.  I  wish  you  had  but  seen 
the  children,  when  the  prize  was  announced  to  them 
yesterday.  Arthur,  you  know,  had  so  set  his  heart 
upon  it,  that  he  was  quite  troublesome  with  his  con- 
stant inquiries  on  the  subject.  He  sprang  up  from 
his  Latin  exercise  and  shouted  aloud,  'Now,  I  am 
sure  mamma  is  a  better  poet  than  Lord  Byron  !' l 

"Their  acclamations  were  actually  deafening,  and 
George 2  said  that  the  '  excess  of  his  pleasure  had 
really  given  him  a  headache.'  The  Bishop's  kind 
communication  put  us  in  possession  of  the  gratifying 
intelligence  a  day  sooner  than  we  should  otherwise 
have  known  it,  as  I  did  not  receive  the  Secretary's 
letter  till  this  morning.  Besides  the  official  announce- 
ment of  the  prize,  his  despatch  also  contained  a  pri- 
vate letter,  with  which,  although  it  is  one  of  criticism, 
I  feel  greatly  pleased,  as  it  shows  an  interest  in  my 
literary  success,  which  from  so  distinguished  a  writer 
as  Mr.  Croly,  (of  course  you  have  read  his  poem  of 
Paris,)  cannot  but  be  highly  gratifying." 

1  It  is  scarcely  necessary  to  remark,  that  the  comparison  origin- 
ated solely  with  the  boy  himself. 

2  George  Willoughby  Hemans,  the  eldest  of  her  survivmg  sons, 
now  a  promising  young  civil  engineer. 


MEMOIR    OF    MRS.  HEMANS.  75 

Mrs.  Hemans  was  at  this  time  occupied  in  the  com- 
position of  her  tragedy,  The  Vespers  of  Palermo, 
which  she  originally  wrote,  without  any  idea  of  offer- 
ing it  for  the  stage.  The  sanguine  recommendations, 
however,  of  Mr.  Reginald  Heber,  and  the  equally 
kind  encouragement  of  Mr.  Milman  (to  whose  corre- 
spondence she  was  introduced  through  the  medium  of 
a  mutual  friend,  though  she  had  never  the  advantage 
of  his  personal  acquaintance),  induced  her  to  venture 
upon  a  step  which  her  own  diffidence  would  have 
withheld  her  from  contemplating,  but  for  the  support 
of  such  high  literary  authorities.  Indeed,  notwith- 
standing the  flattering  encomiums  which  were  be- 
stowed upon  the  tragedy  by  all  who  read  it,  and  most 
especially  by  the  critics  of  the  green  room,  whose 
imprimatur  might  have  been  supposed  a  sufficiently 
safe  guarantee  of  success,  her  own  anticipations, 
throughout  the  long  period  of  suspense  which  inter- 
vened between  its  acceptance  and  representation, 
were  far  more  modified  than  those  of  her  friends.  In 
this  subdued  tone  of  feeling  she  thus  wrote  to  Mr. 
Milman  : — "  As  I  cannot  help  looking  forward  to  the 
day  of  trial  with  much  more  of  dread  than  of  sanguine 
expectation,  I  most  willingly  acquiesce  in  your  recom- 
mendations of  delay,  and  shall  rejoice  in  having  the 
respite  as  much  prolonged  as  possible.  I  begin  almost 
to  shudder  at  my  own  presumption,  and,  if  it  were  not 
for  the  kind  encouragement  I  have  received  from 
you  and  Mr.  Reginald  Heber,  should  be  much  more 
anxiously  occupied  in  searching  for  any  outlet  of 
escape,  than  in  attempting  to  overcome  the  difficulties 


76  MEMOIR    OF    MRS.  HEMANS. 

which  seem  to  obstruct  my  onward  path."1  These 
misgivings  were  but  too  well  justified  by  the  ultimate 
fate  of  the  piece ;  but,  as  this  remained  in  abeyance 
for  two  years  longer,  it  will  be  again  alluded  to  in  the 
proper  order  of  date. 

Mrs.  Hemans's  familiar  letters  of  this  period,  ex- 
hibit a  singular  mixture  of  maternal  and  literary  an- 
xieties. In  one  of  them,  she  says — "  I  have  not  been 
able,  I  am  sorry  to  say,  to  pay  the  least  attention  to 
my  Welsh  studies,  since  your  departure.  I  am  so 
fearful  of  not  having  the  copying  of  the  tragedy  com- 
pleted by  the  time  my  brother  and  sister  return,  and  I 
have  such  a  variety  of  nursery  interruptions,  that  what 
with  the  murdered  Provencals,  George's  new  clothes, 
Mr.  Morehead's  Edinburgh  Magazine,  Arthur's  cough, 
and  his  Easter  holidays,  besides  the  dozen  little  riots 
which  occur  in  my  colony  every  day,  my  ideas  are 

1  "  Oh !  what  troubled  billows,"  wrote  she  to  an  intimate 
friend,  "  have  I  launched  my  paper  boat  upon,  in  writing  this 
play !  If  I  get  through  them  as  well  as  we  did  through  the  awful 
hurricane,  of  which  you  have  given  us  so  many  melancholy  par- 
ticulars, it  will  be  marvellous  indeed.  We  escaped  wonderfully, 
and,  strange  to  say,  every  one  in  the  house  but  myself,  slept 
quietly  the  greater  part  of  the  night,  which,  I  think,  argued  great 
stupidity.  For  me,  I  have  '  given  too  many  pledges  to  fortune,' 
as  Lord  Bacon  says,  to  feel  so  tranquil,  with  *  such  a  dreadful 
pother  o'er  our  heads ;'  and  I  must  say,  I  never  passed  a  night 
of  such  awful  suspense.  The  deep,  rosy  sleep  of  the  children 
quite  affected  me  to  look  at.  Heaven  be  praised !  no  accident 
of  any  serious  consequence  occurred  in  our  neighbourhood,  and  I 
do  think  there  never  will  be  such  a  storm  again,  because  the 
winds  must  have  *  cracked  their  cheeks,'  so  as  to  be  quite  unable 
to  blow  any  more." 


MEMOIR    OF    MRS.  HEMANS.  77 

sometimes  in  such  a  state  of  rotatory  motion,  that  it 
is  with  great  difficulty  I  can  reduce  them  to  any  sort 
of  order." 

In  another  letter,  she  writes — "  You  will  smile 
when  I  tell  you  of  my  having  stolen  time  to-day 
from  much  more  serious  employments,  for  the  very 
important  purpose  of  making  garlands  for  my  little 
boys  to  dance  with,  as  it  is  the  birthday  of  my 
youngest." 

About  this  time,  the  return  of  her  sister  from  Ger- 
many, and  the  ample  supplies  of  new  books  furnished 
to  her  by  her  eldest  brother,  then  with  the  embassy 
at  Vienna  (the  ever  ready  minister  to  her  tastes,  no 
less  than  the  unfailing  support  in  her  trials,)  induced 
her  to  devote  herself  with  enthusiasm  to  the  study  of 
German,  which  from  thenceforward  she  may  be  said 
to  have  taken  to  her  heart  with  a  kind  of  affectionate 
adoption.  She  never  spoke  of  it  without  warmly 
acknowledging  how  many  sources  of  intellectual  en- 
joyment and  expansion  it  had  opened  to  her  ;  and 
could  well  have  understood  the  feelings  of  the  cele- 
brated Venetian  paintress,  Rosalba  Camera,  who,  as 
we  are  told  by  Mrs.  Jameson,1  used,  after  her  return 
to  Italy  from  Dresden,  to  say  her  prayers  in  German, 
"  because  the  language  was  so  expressive."  In  this 
predilection,  as  in  every  other,  it  was  always  a  true 
pleasure  to  Mrs.  Hemans  to  meet  with  a  correspond- 
ing taste  in  any  of  her  friends.  In  one  of  her  letters, 
she  says — "  I  am  so  delighted  when  I  meet  with  any 

1  See  " Visits  and  Sketches  at  Home  and  Abroad,"  vol.  ii.  p. 
115. 

7* 


78  MEMOIR    OP    MRS.  HEMANS. 

one  who  knows  and  loves  my  favourite  seelenvolle1 
German,  that  I  believe  I  could  talk  of  it  for  ever." 
And,  in  another,  —  "I  do  assure  you,  that  when  any 
of  my  friends  enjoy  what  has  been  a  source  of  enjoy- 
ment to  myself,  I  feel  all  the  pleasure  of  a  child  who 
has  found  a  companion  to  play  with  his  flowers." 

She  in  general  preferred  the  writings  of  Schiller 
to  those  of  Goethe,  and  could  for  ever  find  fresh 
beauties  in  Wallenstein,  with  which  she  was  equally 
familiar  in  its  eloquent  original,  and  in  Coleridge's 
magnificent  translation,  or,  as  it  may  truly  be  called, 
transfusion.  Those  most  conversant  with  her  literary 
tastes,  will  remember  her  almost  actual,  relation-like 
love  for  the  characters  of  Max  and  Thekla,  whom, 
like  many  other  "  beings  of  the  mind,"  she  had  learn- 
ed to  consider  as  friends ;  and  her  constant  quotations 
of  certain  passages  from  this  noble  tragedy,  which 
peculiarly  accorded  with  her  own  views  and  feelings. 
In  the  Stimmen  der  Volker  in  Lieder  of  Herder,  she 
found  a  rich  store  of  thoughts  and  suggestions ;  and  it 
was  this  work  which  inspired  her  with  the  idea  of 
her  own  Lays  of  many  Lands,  most  of  which  appear- 
ed originally  in  the  New  Monthly  Magazine,  then 
edited  by  Mr.  Campbell.  She  also  took  great  delight 
in  the  dreamy  beauties  of  Novalis  and  Tieck,  and  in 
what  has  been  gracefully  characterised  by  Mr.  Chor- 
ley,  as  the  "  moonlight  tenderness"  of  Oehlenschlager. 
Of  the  works  of  the  latter,  her  especial  favourite  was 
Coreggio  ;  and  of  Tieck,  Sternbald's  Wanderungen, 
which  she  often  made  her  out-of-doors  companion.  It 

1  Full  of  soul. 


MEMOIR    OF    MRS.  HEMANS.  79 

was  always  an  especial  mark  of  her  love  for  a  book, 
and  of  her  considering  it  true  to  nature,  and  to  the 
best  wisdom  of  the  heart,1  when  she  promoted  it  to 
the  list  of  those  with  which  she  would  "  take  sweet 
counsel"  amidst  the  woods  and  fields. 

But,  amongst  all  these  names  of  power,  none 
awakened  a  more  lively  interest  in  her  mind,  than 
that  of  the  noble-hearted  Korner,  the  young  soldier- 
bard,  who,  in  the  words  of  Professor  Bouterwek, 
"  would  have  become  a  distinguished  tragic  poet,  had 
he  not  met  with  the  still  more  glorious  fate  of  falling 
on  the  field  of  battle,  while  fighting  for  the  deliver- 
ance of  Germany."  The  stirring  events  of  his  life, 
the  heroism  of  his  early  death,  and  the  beautiful  tie 
which  subsisted  between  him  and  his  only  sister, 
whose  fate  was  so  touchingly  bound  up  with  his  own, 
formed  a  romance  of  real  life,  which  could  not  fail  to 
excite  feelings  of  the  warmest  enthusiasm  in  a  bosom 
so  ready  as  hers,  to  respond  to  all  things  high  and 
holy.  The  lyric  of  The  Grave  of  Korner,  is,  per- 
haps, one  of  the  most  impressive  Mrs.  Hemans  ever 
wrote.  Her  whole  heart  was  in  a  subject  which  so 
peculiarly  combined  the  two  strains  dearest  to  her 
nature,  the  chivalrous  and  the  tender. 

"They  were  but  two,  and  when  that  spirit  pass'd, 
Woe  to  the  one,  the  last!" 

That  mournful  echo — "  They  were  but  two,"  was, 

1  "  One  of  our  poets  says,  with  equal  truth  and  beauty,  *  The 
heart  is  wise.'  We  should  be  not  only  happier  but  better  if  we 
attended  more  co  its  dictates." — Ethel  Churchill,  by  L.  E.  L., 
vol.  i.  p.  234. 


80  MEMOIR    OF    MRS.  HEMANS. 

by  some  indefinable  association,  connected  in  her 
mind  with  another  and  far  differing  brother  and  sis- 
ter, called  into  existence  by  the  magic  pen  of  Scott. 
The  affecting  ejaculation,  "  There  are  but  two  of 
us !"  so  often  repeated  by  the  hapless  Clara  Mowbray 
in  St.  Ronan's  Well,  was  frequently  quoted  by  Mrs. 
Hemans  as  an  instance  of  the  deepest  pathos.  The 
lyric  in  question  was,  it  is  believed,  one  of  the  first 
tributes  which  appeared  in  England,  to  the  memory 
of  the  author  of  The  Lyre  and  Sword,  though  his 
name  has  since  become  "  familiar  in  our  ears  as  house- 
hold words."  A  translation  of  the  Life  of  Korner, 
with  selections  from  his  poems,  &c.,  was  published  in 
1827,  by  G.  F.  Richardson,  Esq.,  whose  politeness  in 
presenting  a  copy  of  the  work  to  Mrs.  Hemans,  in- 
scribed with  a  dedicatory  sonnet,  led  to  an  interchange 
of  letters  with  that  gentleman,  and  was  further  the 
means  of  procuring  for  her  the  high  gratification  of  a 
direct  message,  full  of  the  most  feeling  acknowledg- 
ment, from  the  venerable  father  of  the  hero,  who 
afterwards  addressed  to  her  a  poetical  tribute  from 
Theodore  Korner's  Father*  Her  pleasure  in  receiving 
this  genuine  offering  was  thus  expressed  to  Mr.  Rich- 
ardson, who  had  been  the  medium  through  which  it 
reached  her.  "  Theodor  Korner's  Vater !—  it  is, 
indeed,  a  title,  beautifully  expressing  all  the  holy 
pride  which  the  memory  of  die  treuen  Todten '  must 
inspire ;  and  awakening  every  good  and  high  feeling 
to  its  sound.  I  shall  prize  the  lines  as  a  relic.  Will 
you  be  kind  enough  to  assure  M.  Korner,  with  my 

1  The  faithful  dead. 


MEMOIR    OF    MRS.  REMANS.  81 

grateful  respects,  of  the  value  which  will  be  attached 
to  them,  a  value  so  greatly  enhanced  by  their  being 
in  his  own  hand.  They  are  very  beautiful,  I  think, 
in  their  somewhat  antique  and  treuherzig1  simplicity, 
and  worthy  to  have  proceeded  from  Theodor  Korner's 
Fetter." 

The  following  almost  literal  translation  of  these 
lines,  is  given  by  W.  B.  Chorley,  Esq.,  in  his  interest- 
ing little  volume,  The  Lyre  and  Sword,  published  in 
1834:— 

"  Gently  a  voice  from  afar  is  borne  to  the  ear  of  the  mourner ; 
Mildly  it  soundeth,  yet  strong,  grief  in  his  bosom  to  soothe ; 
Strong  in  the  soul-cheering  faith,  that  hearts  have  a  share  in  his 

sorrow, 

In  whose  depths  all  things  holy  and  noble  are  shrined. 
From  that  land  once  dearly  belov'd  by  our  brave  one,  the  fallen, 
Mourning  blent  with  bright  fame — cometh  a  wreath  for  his  urn. 
Hail  to  thee,  England  the  free !  thou  see'st  in  the  German  no 

stranger. 
Over  the  earth  and  the  seas,  joined  be  both  lands,  heart  and 

hand !" 

There  was  nothing  which  delighted  Mrs.  Hemans 
more  in  German  literature,  than  the  cordial  feeling 
of  brotherhood,  so  conspicuous  amongst  its  most  emi- 
nent authors,  and  their  freedom  from  all  the  petty 
rivalries  and  manoeuvres,  on  which  she  herself  looked 
down  with  as  much  of  wonder,  as  of  contempt.  In  a 
letter,  in  which  she  speaks  of  the  bitterness,  and  jea- 
lousy, and*  strife,  pervading  the  tone  of  many  of  our 
own  Reviews,  she  adds,  turning  to  a  brighter  picture 
with  a  feeling  of  relief,  like  that  of  one  emerging 

1  True-hearted. 


82  MEMOIR    OF    MRS.  HEMANS. 

from  the  heated  atmosphere  of  a  city  to  breathe  the 
fresh  air  of  the  mountains. — "How  very  different 
seems  the  spirit  of  literary  men  in  Germany !  I  am 
just  reading  a  work  of  Tieck's,  which  is  dedicated  to 
Schlegel ;  and  I  am  delighted  with  the  beautiful  sim- 
plicity of  these  words  in  the  dedication. 

"  '  Es  war  eine  schdne  Zeit  meines  Lebens,  ah  ich 
dich  und  deinen  Bruder  Friedrich  zuerst  kennen 
Icrnte ;  eine  noch  schdnere  ah  wir  und  JVovalis  fiir 
Kunst  und  Wissenschaft  vereinigt  lebten,  und  uns  in 
mannigfaltigen  Bestrebungen  begegneten.  Jetzt  hat 
uns  das  Schicksal  schon  seit  vielen  Jahren  getrennt. 
Ich  kann  nur  in  Geist  und  in  der  Erinnerung  mit 
dirleben.91  Is  not  that  union  of  bright  minds,  fur 
Kunst  und  Wissenschaft,  a  picture  on  which  it  is 
delightful  to  repose?" 

Mrs.  Hemans's  familiar  correspondence  of  the  year 
1822,  contains  many  humorous  complaints  of  the  per- 
petual disturbance  she  endured  from  the  inroads  of 
masons  and  carpenters,  who  were  employed  in  cer- 
tain alterations  and  additions  at  Bronwylfa.  It  was 
in  the  desperation  occasioned  by  these  circumstances 
that  she  was  at  last,  as  has  been  elsewhere  record- 
ed, driven  to  seek  refuge  in  the  laundry,  from  which 
classical  locality,  she  was  wont  to  say,  it  could  be 
no  wonder  if  sadly  mangled  lines  were  to  issue. 

1  "  That  was  a  bright  era  in  my  life  when  I  first  learned  to 
know  you  and  your  brother  Frederick ;  a  still  brighter,  when 
we  and  Novalis  lived  united  for  art  and  knowledge,  and  emu- 
lated one  another  in  various  competitions.  Fate  has  since,  for 
many  years,  divided  us.  I  can  now  live  with  you  only  in  spirit 
and  in  memory." 


MEMOIR    OF    MRS.  HEMANS.  83 

Some  of  her  lamentations  over  these  grievances 
were  poured  forth  in  such  strains  as  the  following : 
— "  I  entreat  you  to  pity  me — I  am  actually  in  the 
melancholy  situation  of  Lord  Byron's  *  scorpion  girt 
by  fire' — '  Her  circle  narrowing  as  she  goes/  for  I 
have  been  pursued  by  the  household  troops  through 
every  room  successively,  and  begin  to  think  of  es- 
tablishing my  metier  in  the  cellar ;  though  I  dare  say, 
if  I  were  to  fix  myself  as  comfortably  in  a  hogshead  as 
Diogenes  himself,  it  would  immediately  be  discovered 
that  some  of  the  hoops  or  staves  wanted  repair. 

"  When  you  talk  of  tranquillity  and  a  quiet  home, 
I  stare  about  in  wonder,  having  almost  lost  the  recol- 
lection of  such  things,  and  the  hope  that  they  may  pro- 
bably be  regained  some  time  or  other.  I  believe  I 
told  you  that  I  had  been  obliged  to  vacate  my  own 
room,  and  submit  to  the  complete  dislodgement  of  my 
books,  together  with  the  dust,  cobwebs,  and  other  ap- 
purtenances thereunto  belonging.  *  If  there  be  any 
love  of  mercy'  in  you,  I  hope  you  will  feel  a  proper  de- 
gree of  commiseration  towards  me  in  my  extremity." 

A  few  weeks  later,  she  writes — "  We  continue  in 
the  same  state  of  tumult  and  confusion,  wherein  we 
x  have  existed,  as  it  appears  to  my  recollection,  time 
immemorial.  There  is  a  war  of  old  grates  with  new 
grates,  and  plaster  and  paint  with  dust  and  cobwebs, 
carrying  on  in  this  once  tranquil  abode,  with  a  vigour 
and  animosity  productive  of  little  less  din  than  that 
occasioned  by  '  lance  to  lance,  and  horse  to  horse.'  I 
assure  you,  when  I  make  my  escape  about  *  fall  of 
eve'  to  some  of  the  green,  quiet  hay-fields  by  which 
we  are  surrounded,  and  look  back  at  the  house,  which, 


84  MEMOIR    OF    MRS.  HEMANS. 

from  a  little  distance,  seems  almost,  like  Shakspeare's 
moonlight,  to  '  sleep  upon  the  bank,'  I  can  hardly  con- 
ceive how  so  gentle-looking  a  dwelling  can  contrive  to 
send  forth  such  an  incessant  clatter  of  obstreperous 
sound  through  its  honeysuckle-fringed  window.  It 
really  reminds  me  of  a  pretty  shrew,  whose  amiable 
smiles  would  hardly  allow  a  casual  observer  to  suspect 
the  possibility  of  so  fair  a  surface  being  occasionally 
ruffled  by  storms.' 

During  these  days  of  confusion,  her  two  eldest  boys, 
Arthur  and  George,  had  been  sent  away  for  a  few 
weeks  to  the  house  of  a  clergyman,  whose  pupils  they 
had  been,  during  his  previous  residence  in  "the  neigh 
bourhood  of  St.  Asaph.  It  was  their  first  absence 
from  home,  and  was  consequently  considered  as  an 
era  of  no  small  importance.  Their  mother  would 
often  afterwards  refer  to  the  day  on  which  she  went 
with  her  sister  to  fetch  them  home,  as  one  of  the 
white  days  of  her  life.  The  little  journey  (about 
twenty  miles,)  was  in  itself  an  enjoyable  one.  The 
remote  village l  at  which  they  were  staying,  is  quite 
embosomed  amongst  the  mountains,  and  only  approach- 
able by  narrow  shaded  lanes,  seldom  traversed  by  a 
carriage.  It  was  one  of  those  glorious  summer  days 
when  all  nature  seems  to  rejoice, 

"  As  if  earth  contained  no  tomb." 

The  quiet  beauty  of  the  "  hill-country,"  with  its 
bright  streams  and  rich  verdure  smiling  in  the  sun- 
shine ;  the  joyous  song  of  the  sky -lark  (never  heard 
so  triumphantly  as  amongst  the  mountains,) — the 

1  Bettws  Gwerfil  goch. 


MEMOIR    OF    MRS.  HEMANS.  85 

peculiar  luxuriance  of  the  ferns  and  fox-glove l  which 
fringed  the  way-side,  and  even  the  grotesque  rugged- 
ness  of  the  road,  which  gave  to  the  excursion  almost 
an  air  of  adventure  —  were  all  felt  and  enjoyed  as 
such  things  must  ever  be  by  the  lover  of  nature :  and 
when  at  last  the  little  parsonage  appeared  in  sight, 
and  the  two  happy  boys  came  rushing  down  a  green 
slope  behind  it,  flapping  their  pinafores  in  ecstasy, 
and  uttering  a  thousand  joyful  exclamations  at  the 
sight  of  the  carriage,  it  was  indeed  a  bright  picture, 
and  a  moment  not  easily  to  be  forgotten.  Then  came 
the  kind  welcome  of  the  host  and  hostess,  the  impor- 
tant air  of  ciceroneism  with  which  the  two  boys  pro- 
ceeded to  do  the  honours  of  the  village,  the  church, 
the  bridge,  all  the  wonders,  in  short,  of  the  little 
world  around  them — and  then  the  charms  of  the 
evening  drive  home,  the  thousand  questions  to  be 
asked  and  answered  on  each  side,  and  finally,  the 
gladsome  meeting  with  grandmamma,  and  the  three 
merry  little  brothers  in  the  nursery. 

About  this  time,  after  reading  the  then  new  novel 
of  The  Fortunes  of  Nigel,  Mrs.  Hemans  had  inad- 
vertently mentioned  it,  in  a  letter  to  a  friend,  as  giv- 
ing an  admirable  picture  of  the  times  of  James  the 
Second.  On  recollecting  her  mistake,  she  lost  no  time 

1  This  luxuriance  was  so  remarkable,  that,  by  one  of  the 
party,  the  fox-glove  has  never  been  seen  since,  without  a  recol- 
lection of  that  day,  and  of  the  information  then  first  obtained, 
of  its  pretty  Welsh  name,  Menyg  Ellyllon,  fairies'  gloves,  from 
which  some  learned  authorities  have  traced  its  common  appella- 
tion as  a  corruption  of  folk's  glove ;  the  fairies  being  designated 
as  "the  good  folk." 

VOL.  I. 8 


86  MEMOIR    OF    MRS.  HEMANS. 

in  making  the  following  recantation: — "I  am  some- 
what uneasy  at  having  committed  myself,  as  I  just 
now  recollect,  by  telling  you  that  the  scene  of  The 
Fortunes  of  Nigel  is  laid  in  the  times  of  James  the 
Second.  If  you  have  read  the  hook,  you  are  not  the 
person  to  treat  such 

"Misquoting,  mis-stating-, 
Misplacing,  misdating," 

with  the  smallest  degree  of  compassion.  I  shall  cer- 
tainly suffer  for  it,  and  be  the  unhappy  subject  of  one 
of  the  three  modes  of  showing  disdain,  practised  in  the 
days  of  good  Queen  Bess,  viz.,  "  the  broad  flout,  the 
fleering  frump,  and  the  privy  nip."  If  you  have  not 
(that  is,  not  read  Nigel),  you  may  be  committing  your- 
self, and  that  not  merely  as  an  individual,  but  as  a 
member  of  the  "  very  noble  and  approved  "  Literary 
and  Critical  Society  of  St.  Asaph,  by  quoting  the 
anachronism  into  which  I  have  led  you.  I  therefore 
write  to-day,  for  the  sole  purpose  of  throwing  the  bur- 
den off  my  mind,  and  you  may  set  it  down  in  the  list 
of  my  errata,  that  I  told  you  Nigel  described  the  court 
and  manners  of  James  the  Second,  instead  of  the  First, 
the 

**  Bonnie  King  James  who  from  Scotland  came." 

I  am  sure,  the  very  idea  of  his  quilted  doublet  is 
enough  to  give  one  a  fever  such  a  day  as  this.  I  wish 
I  were  with  those  people  in  South  America,  who  hold 
their  assemblies  and  conversazioni  every  evening  in  a 
river.  There  they  sit,  gossiping  in  their  elbow  chairs ; 
and,  I  dare  say,  the  chief  conversation,  like  that  over 
our  own  tea-tables,  turns  upon  the  heat  or  coolness  of 


MEMOIR    OF    MRS.  HEMANS.  87 

the  water.  But  I  am  quite  forgetting  that  I  had  not 
a  word  to  say  to  you  except  about  Nigel,  and  more- 
over, dinner  is  going  in.  Dinner  !  I  wonder  if  "  gen- 
teel families"  are  at  dinner  now  in  the  dog-star. 

"  You  're  hot  if  you  don't  eat  at  all, 
You  're  hotter  if  you  do," 

Nevertheless,  to  the  latter  alternative,  I  must  sub- 
mit at  present ;  therefore,  good  bye." 

In  the  autumn  of  this  year  (1822),  Mrs.  Hemans 
had  the  good  fortune  to  make  an  acquaintance,  not 
only  highly  interesting  in  itself,  but  most  advantageous 
in  a  literary  point  of  view — that  of  William  Jacob,  Esq., 
the  well-known  author  of  Travels  in  Spain  and  in 
Germany,  and  of  several  other  valuable  statistical 
works. 

This  gentleman,  whilst  travelling  through  Wales, 
accompanied  by  one  of  his  daughters,  paid  a  visit  to 
Bronwylfa,  which,  leaving  nothing  to  regret  but  the 
shortness  of  its  duration,  laid  the  foundation  of  a  long 
series  of  kind  and  active  services  on  the  one  part,  and 
of  grateful  appreciation  on  the  other.  "  Believe  me," 
wrote  Mrs.  Hemans  to  Miss  Jacob,  "  the  few  hours 
we  passed  in  your  society  will  be  long  remembered ; 
and,  to  use  an  expression  of  our  old  Welsh  bards,  we 
shall  look  back  to  them  "  as  to  green  spots  on  the 
floods ; "  for  our  paths,  in  this  retired  part  of  the  world, 
are  seldom  crossed  by  those  who  leave  any  deeper  im- 
pression upon  our  memory  than  "  the  little  lines  of 
yesterday." 

The  bardic  expression  above  alluded  to,  with  many 
others,  Equally  quaint  and  figurative,  was  frequently 


88  MEMOIR    OF    MRS.  HEMANS. 

quoted  by  Mrs.  Hemans,  who  took  infinite  delight  in 
all  that  related  to  the  ancient  days  of  Wales,  and  was 
at  this  time  engaged  in  an  undertaking,  which,  from 
the  course  of  reading  it  led  to,  initiated  her  into  much 
that  was  striking  and  original  in  the  legendary  lore  of 
her  adopted  country.  The  noble  motto  for  all  the  pro- 
ceedings of  the  old  Welsh  bards, — "  In  the  face  of  the 
sun,  and  in  the  eye  of  light,"  was  one  completely  after 
her  own  heart,  and  in  perfect  accordance  with  the 
transparent  guilelessness  of  a  character  to  which  the 
conventional  insincerities  of  e very-day  life  were  so 
unutterably  distasteful.  It  is,  indeed,  impossible  to  in- 
sist too  much  upon  this  peculiar  characteristic,  which, 
rendering  her  as  unsuspicious  of  evil  thoughts  in  others, 
as  she  was  incapable  of  them  herself,  laid  her  open  in 
a  thousand  ways  to  the  misconstructions  of  those 
"  children  of  this  world"  who  are,  "in  their  genera- 
tion, wiser  than  the  children  of  light."  To  return, 
however,  to  her  favourite  ancient  Britons,  whom  she 
thus  introduced  to  the  notice  of  her  new  friend: — 
"  The  idea  entertained  of  the  bardic  character,  ap- 
pears to  me  particularly  elevated  and  beautiful.  The 
bard  was  not  allowed,  in  any  way,  to  become  a  party 
in  political  or  religious  dispute ;  he  was  recognised  so 
completely  as  the  herald  of  peace,  under  the  title  of 
6  Bard  of  the  Isle  of  Britain,'  that  a  naked  weapon 
was  not  allowed  to  be  displayed  in  his  presence.  He 
passed  unmolested  from  one  hostile  country  to  another ; 
and,  if  he  appeared  in  his  uni-coloured  robe  (which 
was  azure,  being  the  emblem  of  peace  and  truth) 
between  two  contending  armies,  the  battle  was  imme- 
diately suspended.  One  of  the  general  titles  of  the 


MEMOIR    OF    MRS.  IIEMANS.  89 


order  was,  '  Those  who  are  free  throughout  the  world,' 
and  their  motto,  '  The  truth  against  the  world.'  ' 

The  Voice  of  Spring,  perhaps  the  best  known  and 
best  loved  of  all  Mrs.  Hemans's  lyrics,  was  written 
early  in  the  year  1823;  and  is  thus  alluded  to  in  a 
letter  to  a  friend,  who  had  lately  suffered  a  severe 
and  sudden  bereavement :  —  "  The  Voice  of  Spring 
expresses  some  peculiar  feelings  of  my  own,  although 
my  life  has  yet  been  unvisited  by  any  affliction  so 
deeply  impressive,  in  all  its  circumstances,  as  the  one 
you  have  been  called  upon  to  sustain.  Yet  I  cannot 
but  feel  every  year,  with  the  return  of  the  violet,  how 
much  the  shadows  of  my  mind  have  deepened  since 
its  last  appearance  ;  and  to  me  the  spring,  with  all 
its  joy  and  beauty,  is  generally  a  time  of  thought- 
fulness  rather  than  mirth.  I  think  the  most  delightful 
poetry  I  know  upon  the  subject  of  this  season,  is  con- 
tained in  the  works  of  Tieck,  a  German  poet,  with 
whom  you  are  perhaps  acquainted ;  but  the  feelings 
he  expresses  are  of  a  very  different  character  from 
those  I  have  described  to  you,  seeming  all  to  proceed 
from  an  overflowing  sense  of  life  and  joy." 

This  indefinable  feeling  of  languor  and  depression 
produced  by  the  influence  of  spring,  will  be  well 
understood  by  many  a  gentle  heart.  Never  do  the 

"  Fond  strange  yearnings  from  the  soul's  deep  cell, 
Gush  for  the  faces  we  no  more  shall  see," 

with  such  uncontrollable  power,  as  when  all  external 
nature  breathes  of  life  and  gladness.  Amidst  all  the 
bright  and  joyous  things  around  us,  we  are  haunted 
with  images  of  death  and  the  grave.  The  force  of 


90  MEMOIR    OF    MRS.  HEMANS. 

contrast,  not  less  strong  than  that  of  analogy,  is 
unceasingly  reminding  us  of  the  great  gulph  that 
divides  us  from  those  who  are  now  "  gone  down  in 
silence."  Some  unforgotten  voice  is  ever  whispering 
— "  And  I  too  in  Arcadia."  We  remember  how  we 
were  wont  to  rejoice  in  the  soft  air  and  pleasant  sun- 
shine ;  and  these  things  can  charm  us  no  longer, 
"  because  they  are  not."  The  farewell  sadness  of 
,  autumn,  on  the  contrary — its  falling  leaves,  and  uni- 
versal imagery  of  decay,  by  bringing  more  home  to 
us  the  sense  of  our  own  mortality,  identifies  us  more 
closely  with  those  who  are  gone  before,  and  the  veil 
of  separation  becomes,  as  it  were,  more  transparent. 
We  are  impressed  with  a  more  pervading  conviction 
that  "  we  shall  go  to  them ;"  while  in  spring,  every 
thing  seems  mournfully  to  echo,  "  they  will  not  return 
to  us !" 

These  peculiar  associations  may  be  traced  in  many 
of  Mrs.  Hemans's  writings,  deepening  with  the  influ- 
ence of  years  and  of  sorrows,  and  more  particularly 
developed  in  the  poem  called  Breathings  of  Spring. 
And  when  it  is  remembered  that  it  was  at  this  season 
her  own  earthly  course  was  finished,  the  following 
passage  from  a  letter,  written  in  the  month  of  May, 
some  years  after  the  one  last  quoted,  cannot  be  read 
without  emotion.  "  Poor  A.  H.  is  to  be  buried  to- 
morrow. With  the  bright  sunshine  laughing  around, 
it  seems  more  sad  to  think  of;  yet  if  I  could  choose 
when  I  would  wish  to  die,  it  should  be  in  spring — 
the  influence  of  that  season  is  so  strangely  depressing 
to  my  heart  and  frame." 

It  was  in  1823  that  Mrs.  Hemans  began  to  be  a 


MEMOIR    OF    MRS.  HEMANS.  91 

contributor  to  the  Neto  Monthly  Magazine,  then  edited 
by  Mr.  Campbell;  and  in  the  summer  of  the  same 
year,  the  volume  containing  The  Siege  of  Valencia 
was  published  by  Mr.  Murray.  Through  some  mis- 
take of  the  printers,  an  untoward  anomaly  occurred 
in  the  arrangement  of  the  contents  of  this  volume — 
The  Last  Constantino  taking  precedence  of  the  poem 
which  so  far  exceeded  it  in  importance  and  interest, 
and  from  which  the  work  derived  its  name.  Belshaz- 
zar's  Feast,  which  appeared  in  the  same  volume,  had 
previously  been  published  in  the  Collection  of  Poems 
from  Living  Authors,  edited  for  a  benevolent  purpose 
by  Mrs.  Joanna  Baillie.1 

1  This  work  was  thus  referred  to  in  one  of  Mrs.  Hemans's  let- 
ters : — "  Have  you  seen  a  collection  of  poems  by  living  authors, 
edited  by  Mrs.  Joanna  Baillie,  for  the  benefit  of  a  friend  ]  She 
was  kind  enough  to  send  me  a  copy,  as  I  was  one  of  her  contrib- 
utors :  I  mention  it  to  you,  principally  to  call  your  attention, 
should  you  meet  with  the  book,  to  a  very  fine  translation,  by 
Sotheby,  of  Schiller's  magnificent  Lied  von  der  Glocke, — a  piece 
so  very  difficult  to  translate  with  effect,  that  I  should  have  hardly 
thought  it  possible  to  give  it  so  much  spirit  and  grace  in  another 
language.  I  never,  until  very  lately,  met  with  a  tragedy  of  Mrs. 
Baillie's,  which  is,  I  believe,  less  generally  known  than  her  other 
works — The  Family  Legend.  I  was  muchvpleased  with  it,  par- 
ticularly with  her  delineation  of  the  heroine.  Indeed,  nothing 
in  all  her  writings  delights  me  so  much  as  her  general  idea  of 
what  is  beautiful  in  the  female  character.  There  is  so  much 
gentle  fortitude,  and  deep  self-devoting  affection  in  the  women 
whom  she  portrays,  and  they  are  so  perfectly  different  from  the 
pretty  "  unideaM  girls,"  who  seem  to  form  the  beau  ideal  of  our 
whole  sex  in  the  works  of  some  modern  poets.  Have  you  seen 
the  lately  published  memoirs  of  Lady  Griseld  Baillie'?  She  was 
an  ancestress,  I  believe,  of  Joanna's,  and  her  delightful  character 


92  MEMOIR    OF    MRS.  HEMANS. 

After  innumerable  delays,  uncertainties,  and  anxie- 
ties, the  fate  of  the  tragedy,  so  long  in  abeyance,  was 
now  drawing  to  a  crisis.  Every  thing  connected  with 
its  approaching  representation  was  calculated  to  raise 
the  highest  hopes  of  success.  "  All  is  going  on." 
writes  Mrs.  Hemans  on  the  27th  November,  "  as  well 
as  I  could  possibly  desire.  Only  a  short  time  will  yet 
elapse  before  the  ordeal  is  over.  I  received  a  message 
yesterday  from  Mr.  Kemble,  informing  me  of  the 
unanimous  opinion  of  the  green  room  conclave  in 
favour  of  the  piece,  and  exhorting  me  to  *  be  of  good 
courage.'  Murray  has  given  me  two  hundred  guineas 
for  the  copyright  of  the  *  tragedy,  drama,  poem,  com- 
position, or  book/  as  it  is  called  in  the  articles  which 
I  signed  yesterday.  The  managers  made  exceptions 
to  the  name  of  Procida,  why  or  wherefore  I  know 
not ;  and  out  of  several  others  which  I  proposed  to 
them,  The  Vespers  of  Palermo  has  been  finally  cho- 
sen." 

Under  these  apparently  favourable  auspices,  the 
piece  was  produced  at  Covent  Garden  on  the  night 
of  December  12,  1823,  the  principal  characters  being 
taken  by  Mr.  Young,  Mr.  C.  Kemble,  Mr.  Yates,  Mrs. 
Bartley,  and  Miss  R  H.  Kelly.  Two  days  had  to 
elapse  before  the  news  of  its  reception  could  reach 
St.  Asaph.  Not  only  Mrs.  Hemans's  own  family,  but 
all  her  more  immediate  friends  and  neighbours  were 
wrought  up  to  a  pitch  of  intense  expectation.  Various 
newspapers  were  ordered  expressly  foi*  the  occasion ; 

seems  to  have  been  the  model  her  descendant  has  copied  in  some 
of  her  dramas." 


MEMOIR    OF    MRS.  HEMANS.  93 

and  the  post-office  was  besieged  at  twelve  o'clock  at 
night,  by  some  of  the  more  zealous  of  her  friends, 
eager  to  be  the  first  heralds  of  the  triumph  so  undoubt- 
ingly  anticipated.  The  boys  had  worked  themselves 
up  into  an  uncontrollable  state  of  excitement,  and 
were  all  lying  awake  "to  hear  about  mamma's  play;" 
and  perhaps  her  bitterest  moment  of  mortification  was, 
when  she  went  up  to  their  bed-sides,  which  she  nerved 
herself  to  do  almost  immediately,  to  announce  that  all 
their  bright  visions  were  dashed  to  the  ground,  and 
that  the  performance  had  ended  in  all  but  a  failure. 
The  reports  in  the  newspapers  were  strangely  contra- 
dictory, and,  in  some  instances,  exceedingly  liberal ; 
but  all  which  were  written  in  any  thing  like  an  un- 
biassed tone,  concurred  entirely  with  the  private 
accounts,  not  merely  of  partial  friends,  but  of  perfectly 
unprejudiced  observers,  in  attributing  this  most  unex- 
pected result  to  the  inefficiency  of  the  actress  who 
personated  Constance,  and  who  absolutely  seemed  to 
be  under  the  influence  of  some  infatuating  spell,  call- 
ing down  hisses,  and  even  laughter,  on  scenes  the  most 
pathetic  and  affecting,  and,  to  crown  all,  dying  gra- 
tuitously at  the  close  of  the  piece.  The  acting  of 
v  Young  and  Kemble  in  the  two  Procidi,  was  univer- 
sally pronounced  to  have  been  beyond  all  praise ;  and 
their  sustained  exertions  showed  a  determination  to  do 
all  possible  justice  to  the  author.  It  was  admitted, 
that  at  the  fall  of  the  curtain,  applause  decidedly 
predominated :  still  the  marks  of  disapprobation  were 
too  strong  to  be  disregarded  by  the  managers,  who 
immediately  decided  upon  withdrawing  the  piece,  till 
-mother  actress  should  have  fitted  herself  to  under 


94  MEMOIR    OF    MRS.  HEMANS. 

take  the  part  of  Constance,  when  they  fully  resolvec1 
to  reproduce  it.  Mrs.  Hemans  herself  was  very  far 
from  wishing  that  this  fresh  experiment  should  be 
made.  "  Mr.  Kemble,"  writes  she  to  a  friend,  "  will 
not  hear  of  The  Vespers  being  driven  off  the  stage. 
It  is  to  be  reproduced  as  soon  as  Miss  Foote,  who  is 
now  unwrell,  shall  be  sufficiently  recovered  to  learn 
her  part ;  but  I  cannot  tell  you  how  I  shrink,  after 
the  fiery  ordeal  through  which  I  have  passed,  from 
such  another  trial.  Mr.  Kemble  attributes  the  failure, 
without  the  slightest  hesitation,  to  what  he  delicately 
calls  "a  singularity  of  intonation  in  one  of  the  actress- 
es," I  have  also  heard  from  Mr.  Milman,  Mr.  J.  S. 
Coleridge,  and  several  others,  with  whom  there  is  but 
one  opinion  as  to  the  cause  of  the  disaster." 

Few  would,  perhaps,  have  borne  so  unexpected  a 
reverse  with  feelings  so  completely  untinged  with  bit- 
terness, or  with  greater  readiness  to  turn  for  consola- 
tion to  the  kindness  and  sympathy  which  poured  in 
upon  her  from  every  side.  It  would  be  doing  her 
injustice  to  withhold  her  letter  to  Mr.  Milman,  written 
in  the  first  moments  of  disappointment. 

"  Bronwylfa,  Dec.  16,  1823. 
"  MY  DEAR  SIR, 

"  It  is  difficult  to  part  with  the  hopes  of  three 
years,  without  some  painful  feelings;  but  your  kind 
letter  has  been  of  more  service  to  me  than  I  can 
attempt  to  describe.  I  will  not  say  that  it  revives 
my  hopes  of  success,  because  I  think  it  better  that 
I  should  file  my  mind  to  prevent  those  hopes  from 
gaining  any  ascendency  ;  but  it  sets  in  so  clear  a  light 


MEMOIR    OF    MRS.  HEMANS.  95 

the  causes  of  failure,  that  my  disappointment  has 
been  greatly  softened  by  its  perusal.  The  many 
friends  from  whom  I  have  heard  on  this  occasion, 
express  but  one  opinion.  As  to  Miss  Kelly's  acting, 
and  its  fatal  effect  on  the  fortunes  of  the  piece,  I  can- 
not help  thinking  that  it  will  be  impossible  to  counter- 
act the  unfavourable  impression  which  this  must  have 
produced,  and  I  almost  wish,  as  far  as  relates  to  my 
own  private  feelings,  that  the  attempt  may  not  be 
made.  I  shall  not,  however,  interfere  in  any  way  on 
the  subject.  I  have  not  heard  from  Mr.  Kemble ;  but 
I  have  written  both  to*  him  and  to  Mr.  Young,  to  ex- 
press my  grateful  sense  of  their  splendid  exertions  in 
support  of  the  piece.  As  a  female,  I  cannot  help 
feeling  rather  depressed  by  the  extreme  severity  with 
which  I  have  been  treated  in  the  morning  papers.  I 
know  not  why  this  should  be ;  for  I  am  sure  I  should 
not  have  attached  the  slightest  value  to  their  praise ; 
but  I  suppose  it  is  only  a  proper  chastisement  for  my 
temerity ;  for  a  female  who  shrinks  from  such  things, 
has  certainly  no  business  to  write  tragedies. 

"  For  your  support  and  assistance,  as  well  as  that 
of  my  other  friends,  I  cannot  be  too  grateful ;  nor  can 
I  ever  consider  any  transaction  of  my  life  unfortunate, 
which  has  given  me  the  privilege  of  calling  you  a 
friend,  and  afforded  me  the  recollection  of  so  much 
long-tried  kindness.  —  Ever  believe  me,  my  dear  sir, 
most  faithfully,  your  obliged 

F.  HEMANS." 

Notwithstanding  the  determination  of  the  mana- 
gers again  to  bring  forward  The  Vespers,  a  sort  of 


96  MEMOIR    OF    MRS.  HEMANS. 

fatality  seemed  to  attend  upon  it,  and  some  fresh 
obstacle  was  continually  arising  to  prevent  the  luck- 
less Constance  from  obtaining  an  efficient  representa- 
tive on  the  London  stage.  Under  these  circumstan- 
ces, Mr.  Kemble  at  length  confessed  that  he  could  not 
recommend  the  reproduction  of  the  piece ;  and  Mrs. 
Hemans  acquiesced  in  the  decision,  with  feelings  which 
partook  rather  of  relief  than  of  disappointment.  She 
never  ceased  to  speak  in  the  warmest  terms  of  Mr. 
Kemble's  liberal  and  gentlemanly  conduct,  both  before 
and  after  the  appearance  of  the  piece,  and  of  his  sur- 
passing exertions  at  the  time  of  its  representation. 

It  was  with  no  small  degree  of  surprise,  that,  in 
the  course  of  the  following  February,  she  learned, 
through  the  medium  of  a  letter  from  Mrs.  Joanna 
Baillie,1  that  the  tragedy  was  shortly  to  be  represent- 

1  Though  Mrs.  Hemans  had  never  the  advantage  of  being 
personally  known  to  this  gifted  and  excellent  lady,  the  occa- 
sional interchange  of  letters,  which,  from  this  time  forward,  was 
kept  up  between  them,  was  regarded  as  one  of  the  most  valuable 
privileges  she  possessed.  It  was  always  delightful  to  her  when 
she  could  love  the  character,  as  well  as  admire  the  talents,  of  a 
celebrated  author;  and  never,  surely,  was  there  an  example 
better  fitted  to  call  forth  the  willing  tribute  of  veneration,  both 
towards  the  woman  and  the  poetess.  In  one  of  her  letters  to 
Mrs.  Baillie,  Mrs.  Hemans  thus  apologized  for  indulging  in  a 
strain  of  egotism,  which  the  nature  of  their  acquaintance  might 
scarcely  seem  to  justify. — "  The  kindly  warmth  of  heart  which 
seems  to  breathe  over  all  your  writings,  and  the  power  of  early 
association  over  my  mind,  make  me  feel,  whenever  I  address 
you,  as  if  I  were  writing  to  a  friend." 

It  would  have  been  very  dear  to  her  could  she  have  foreseen 
how  graciously  that  "  kindly  warmth  of  heart"  would  be  extend- 
ed to  those  of  her  children,  who  are  more  fortunate  than  her- 


MEMOIR    OF    MRS.  HEMANS.  97 

ed  at  the  Edinburgh  Theatre  —  Mrs.  Henry  Siddons 
undertaking  the  part  of  Constance.  The  play  was 
brought  out  on  the  5th  of  April,  and  the  following 
particulars  of  its  reception,  transmitted  by  one  of  the 
zealous  friends  who  had  been  instrumental  in  this 
arrangement,  will  prove  how  well  their  kindly  inten- 
tions were  fulfilled: — 

"  The  tragedy  went  off  in  a  style  which  exceeded 
our  most  sanguine  expectations,  and  was  announced 
for  repetition  on  Wednesday,  amidst  thunders  of  ap- 
plause. The  actors  seem  to  have  done  wonders,  and 
every  one  appeared  to  strain  every  nerve,  as  if  all 
depended  on  his  own  exertions.  Vandenhoff  was  the 
elder,  and  Calcraft  the  younger  Procida.  The  first 
recognition  between  father  and  son,  was  acted  by 
them  to  such  perfection,  that  one  of  the  most  hearty 

and  unanimous  plaudits  followed  that  ever  was  heard. 

#  *  *  *  * 

"  Every  re-appearance  of  the  gentle  Constance 
won  the  spectators  more  and  more.  The  scene  in 
the  judgment  hall  carried  off  the  audience  into  per- 
fect illusion,  and  handkerchiefs  were  out  in  every 
quarter.  Mrs.  Siddons's  searching  the  faces  of  the 
judges,  which  she  did  in  a  wild  manner,  as  if  to  find 
how  Raimond's  father  was  to  save  him,  was  perfect. 
She  flew  round  the  circle — went,  as  if  distracted, 
close  up  to  judge  after  judge — paused  before  Procida, 
and  fell  prostrate  at  his  feet.  The  effect  was  magi- 
cal, and  was  manifested  by  three  repeated  bursts  of 
applause." 

self,  in  enjoying  the  personal  intercourse  she  would  have  prized 
so  highly. 

VOL.  I. 9 


98  MEMOIR    OF    MRS.  HEMANS. 

A  neatly  turned  and  witty  epilogue,  surmised, 
though  not  declared,  to  be  the  production  of  Sir 
Walter  Scott,  was  recited  by  Mrs.  H.  Siddons.  When 
deference  to  a  female  was  there  laid  claim  to,  loud 
bursts  of  applause  ensued ;  but,  when  generosity  to  a 
stranger  was  bespoken,  the  house  absolutely  rang 
with  huzzas. 

"  I  knew  how  much  you  would  rejoice,"  wrote  Mrs. 
Hemans  to  a  warm-hearted  friend,  "  in  the  issue  of 
my  Edinburgh  trial ;  it  has,  indeed,  been  most  grati- 
fying, and  I  think,  amongst  the  pleasantest  of  its  re- 
sults, I  may  reckon  a  letter  from  Sir  Walter  Scott,  of 
which  it  has  put  me  in  possession.  I  had  written  to 
thank  him  for  the  kindness  he  had  shown  with  regard 
to  the  play,  and  hardly  expected  an  answer ;  but  it 
came,  and  you  would  be  delighted  with  its  frank  and 
unaffected  kindliness.  He  acknowledges  the  epilogue, 
"  stuffed,"  as  he  says  it  was,  "  with  parish  jokes,  and 
bad  puns;"  and  courteously  says,  that  his  country 
folks  have  done  more  credit  to  themselves  than  to  me, 
by  their  reception  of  The  Vespers. 

To  another  uncompromising  champion  she  wrote : 
— "I  must  beg  you  will  'bear  our  faculties  meekly :' 
you  really  seem  to  be  rather  in  an  intoxicated  state ; 
and  if  we  indulge  ourselves  in  this  way,  I  am  afraid 
we  shall  have  something  violent  to  sober  us.  I  dare 
say  I  must  expect  some  sharp  criticism  from  Edin- 
burgh ere  all  this  is  over ;  but  any  thing  which  de- 
serves the  name  of  criticism  I  can  bear.  I  believe  I 
could  point  out  more  faults  in  The  Vespers  myself 
than  any  one  has  done  yet." 

And  then,  with  that  endearing  predominance  of  the 


MEMOIR    OF    MRS.  HEMANS.  99 

mother  over  the  author,  which  formed  one  of  the 
loveliest  features  of  her  character,  she  would  turn  to 
some  nursery  topic  in  strains  such  as  these:  —  "  I  am 
just  returned  from  a  game  with  one  of  the  English 
shuttlecocks  (which  are  pronounced  to  be  much  the 
best  flyers,)  in  which  I  have  so  distinguished  myself 
by  my  strenuous  exertions,  that  I  feel  in  some  danger 
of  writing  one  of  the  three  hands  on  which  I  have 
heard  a  distinguished  lawyer  piques  himself  —  I  mean 
the  one  which  neither  he  himself  nor  any  one  else 
can  read.  *  Tant  les  forces  de  ma  puissante  vie9  (as 
Mademoiselle  de  Stael  says  of  Corinne)  '  sont  tpui- 


And  a  letter  of  "  high  discourse"  on  the  writings 
of  Dr.  Channing,  merges  in  the  domestic  mood,  as 
follows:  —  "Now,  lest  you  should  forget  your  '  Aunt 
Becky's1  character,  I  have  two  important  commis- 
sions to  keep  you  in  heart  and  in  practice.  We  are 
in  the  greatest  want  of  two  humming-tops  !  One  is 
to  be  rather  a  large  one,  but  plain,  and  as  little  ex- 
pensive as  may  be  ;  the  other  of  small  dimensions, 
even  such  as  will  hum  upon  a  table.  Sundry  teeth 
have  been  drawn  in  the  household,  and  the  tops  have 
vbeen  promised  to  reward  the  fortitude  evinced  on 
these  trying  occasions." 

She  delighted,  too,  in  relating  little  anecdotes  of 

1  See  The  Inheritance,  by  Miss  Ferrier.  This  pet  name  had 
been  bestowed  upon  the  indefatigable  friend  who  was,  for  eigh- 
teen years,  the  purveyor  of  all  things  needful,  from  Italian  clas- 
sics to  huntming-tops  ;  and,  like  the  Countess  of  Pembroke  and 
Montgomery,  a  reference  and  authority  in  everything,  from 
"predestination  down  to  slea-silk." 


100  MEMOIR    OF    MRS.  REMANS. 

her  children,  when  writing  to  the  partial  friends  by 
whom  such  "  trivial  fond  records"  were  most  likely 
to  be  prized.  "  I  must  tell  you,"  she  writes,  "  a  re- 
mark of  my  little  George's  the  other  day,  not  only  as 
I  was  much  pleased  with  its  discrimination,  but  as  a 
proof  of  the  attention  and  interest  with  which  he  has 
read  our  dear  Swiss  history.1  He  was  reading  to  me 
an  account  of  the  proceedings  of  the  precious  trium- 
virate, Antony,  Lepidus,  and  Octavius  ;  when,  sud- 
denly pausing,  he  exclaimed,  after  a  moment's  thought 
— "  Oh,  mamma  !  what  a  contrast  to  the  meeting  of 
the  three  Swiss  patriots  on  the  field  of  Grutli !" 
Another  of  these  "  Oh,  mammas,"  was  somewhat 

1  A  History  of  Switzerland,  for  young  persons,  published  by 
Darton  and  Harvey.  This  very  interesting  volume  was  written 
by  Mrs.  Hemans's  accomplished  friend,  the  dear  "Aunt  Becky" 
of  the  note  above ;  and  she  took  an  interest  in  its  progress,  and 
a  pleasure  in  its  success,  which  could  scarcely  have  been  ex- 
ceeded had  the  work  been  her  own.  A  little  volume  of  Devo- 
tions for  Yotith,  written  by  the  same  friend,  and  published  by 
Rivingtons  two  or  three  years  afterwards,  was  one  she  prized 
yet  more  highly,  and  frequently  used  with  her  children.  "  On 
Christmas  morning,"  she  wrote,  when  they  had  been  lent  to  her 
in  MS.,  "  I  read  your  prayer  for  that  day  with  my  boys,  and  I 
cannot  tell. you  the  pleasure  I  have  in  associating  a  thought  of 
you  with  the  feelings  excited  in  such  moments.  I  was  pleased 
to  hear  the  boys  say, '  Mamma,  that  is  the  nicest  prayer  you  ever 
read  to  us ;'  and  could  not  help  thinking  that  you,  too,  would 
like  the  approbation  of  such  accomplished  critics.  In  the  lines 
which  I  suggested  as  a  motto  to  the  prayers,  and  which  are  from 
a  birthday  address  to  my  little  George,  the  idea  of  the  cares  of 
earth  lying  dim  on  the  spirit's  wings,  was  meant  to  imply  the 
gradual  fading  of  youthful  fancy  and  imagination  in  the  world's 
atmosphere,  just  as  the  feathers  of  a  bird  of  Paradise  might  be 
coiled  with  a  mist  or  shower," 


MEMOIR    OF    MRS.    ti&MANS.  101 

more  piquant  in  its  character.  "  I  wish  you  would 
make  the  Bishop  laugh  with  a  saying  of  George's, 
which  entertained  me  a  good  deal — "  Oh,  mamma ! 
I'm  in  the  most  delightful  place  in  my  Virgil  now  — 
I'm  in  Tartarus!" 

She  had  always  taken  great  interest  in  the  descrip- 
tion of  the  Christmas  domestic  festivals  in  Germany — 
the  "  Christmas  Tree,"  the  mutual  presents  between 
parents  and  children,  and  all  the  innocent  mysteries 
and  pretty  surprises  which  travellers  have  described 
so  often,  but  none  with  so  much  truth  and  nature  as 
Coleridge  in  his  letter  from  Ratzeburg,  published  in 
The  Friend.  Amongst  her  own  little  group,  some- 
thing of  a  similar  celebration  was  always  attempted. 
However  wearied  or  harassed  she  might  be,  the  claims 
of  this  joyous  season  were  never  remitted.  The  fate 
of  poetic  heroes  and  heroines  would  remain  in  abey- 
ance, whilst  juvenile  mimes  and  mysteries  were  going 
on  at  the  fireside  ;  and  for  the  moment  nothing  seemed 
so  important  as  the  invention  of  different  devices  for 
the  painted  bags  of  bonbons  destined  to  adorn  the 
boughs  of  the  "  Christmas  Tree."  Even  in  the  midst 
of  all  her  dramatic  vexations,  she  could  write  com- 
"pletely  con  amore — "  The  boys  were  very  happy  yes- 
terday evening  with  a  plain  twelfth  cake  of  their  own, 
when,  just  as  it  had  been  despatched,  and  the  little 
ones  were  gone  to  bed,  there  arrived  a  much  more 
splendid  one  from  the  Bishop,  so  we  are  to  have  a 
thirteenth  night  this  evening.  Charlie  lays  claim  to 
what  he  calls  the  6  Coronation,'  from  the  top  of  the 
above-named  cake,  as  he  says  he  *  always  has  the 
coronations  from  the  top  of  the  Bishop's  cakes.' " 
9* 


102  MEMOIR    OF    MRS.    REMANS. 

About  this  time,  Mrs.  Hemans  was  engaged  in  the 
composition  of  another  tragedy,  entitled  De  Chatillon, 
or,  The  Crusaders  ;  in  which,  with  that  deference  to 
fair  criticism  which  she  was  always  ready  to  avow, 
and  to  act  upon,  she  made  it  her  purpose  to  attempt 
a  more  compressed  style  of  writing,  avoiding  that 
redundancy  of  poetic  diction  which  had  been  censured 
as  the  prevailing  fault  of  The  Vespers.  It  may  pos- 
sibly be  thought  that  in  the  composition  in  question 
she  has  fallen  into  the  opposite  extreme  of  want  of 
elaboration ;  yet  in  its  present  state,  it  is,  perhaps, 
scarcely  amenable  to  criticism,  for  by  some  strange 
accident,  the  fair  copy  transcribed  by  herself  was 
either  destroyed  or  mislaid  in  some  of  her  subsequent 
removals,  and  the  piece  was  long  considered  as  utterly 
lost.  Nearly  two  years  after  her  death,  the  original 
rough  MS.,  with  all  its  hieroglyphical  blots  and  era- 
sures, was  discovered  amongst  a  mass  of  forgotten 
papers ;  and  it  has  been  a  task  of  no  small  difficulty 
to  decypher  it,  and  complete  the  copy  now  first  given 
to  the  world.  Allowances  must,  therefore,  be  made 
for  the  disadvantages  under  \vhich  it  appears,  thus 
deprived  of  her  own  finishing  touches,  and  with  no 
means  of  ascertaining  how  far  it  may  differ  from  the 
copy  so  unaccountably  missing. 

In  the  autumn  of  1824,  she  began  the  poem  which, 
in  point  of  finish  and  consecutiveness,  if  not  in  popular- 
ity, may  be  considered  her  principal  work,  and  which 
she  herself  inclined  to  look  upon  as  her  best.  "  I  am 
at  present,"  she  wrote  to  one  always  interested  in  her 
literary  occupations,  "  engaged  upon  a  poem  of  some 
length,  the  idea  of  which  was  suggested  to  me  by  some 


MEMOIR    OF    MRS.  REMANS.  103 

passages  in  your  friend  Mr.  Blanco  White's  delightful 
writings. l  It  relates  to  the  sufferings  of  a  Spanish 
Protestant,  in  the  time  of  Philip  the  Second,  and  is 
supposed  to  be  narrated  by  the  sufferer  himself,  who 
escapes  to  America.  I  am  very  much  interested  in 
my  subject,  and  hope  to  complete  the  poem  in  the 
course  of  the  winter."  The  progress  of  this  work  was 
watched  with  great  interest  in  her  domestic  circle,  and 
its  touching  descriptions  would  often  extract  a  tribute 
of  tears  from  the  fireside  auditors.  When  completed, 
a  family  consultation  was  held  as  to  its  name.  Vari- 
ous titles  were  proposed  and  rejected,  till  that  of  The 
Forest  Sanctuary  was  suggested  by  her  brother,  and 
finally  decided  upon.  Though  finished  early  in  1825, 
the  poem  was  not  published  till  the  following  year, 
when  it  was  brought  out  in  conjunction  with  the  Lays 
of  Many  Lands,  and  a  collection  of  miscellaneous 
pieces,  most  of  which  had  previously  appeared  in  the 
New  Monthly  Magazine,  or  in  some  of  the  various  an- 
nuals, from  whose  editors  Mrs.  Hemans  was  now  re- 
ceiving continual  overtures.  The  number  and  urgen- 
cy of  these  applications  was  already  beginning  to  be 
half  tormenting,  half  amusing,  though  nothing  in  com- 
parison with  the  "  Vallombrosa"-like  showers  of  these 
"  autumnal  leaves"  which  used  to  come  pouring  down 
upon  her  in  after  years,  when  the  annual  fever  had 
reached  its  height. 

It  was  interesting  to  observe  the  manner  in  which 
any  new  idea,  accidentally  suggested  in  the  course  of 
her  reading,  would  take  hold  of  her  imagination, 

1  Letters  from  Spain  by  Don  Leucadio  Doblado. 


104  MEMOIR    OF    MRS.  HEMANS. 

awakening,  as  with  an  electric  touch,  a  whole  train 
of  associations  and  developements.  Most  truly,  in  her 
case,  was  exemplified  Mr.  Wordsworth's  observation 
respecting  poetic  sensibility,  in  which  he  says,  that 
"  the  more  exquisite  it  is,  the  wider  will  be  the  range 
of  a  poet's  perceptions,  and  the  more  will  he  be  in- 
cited to  observe  objects,  both  as  they  exist  in  them- 
selves, and  as  reacted  upon  by  his  own  mind."  l 

By  her,  objects  were  never  seen  simply  "  as  they 
exist  in  themselves."  Every  thing  brought  its  own 
appeals  to  thought  and  memory ;  and  every  sight  and 
sound  in  nature  awakened  some  distinct  echo  in  her 
heart.  The  very  rustling  of  the  trees  spoke  to  her  in 
tones  full  of  "meaning.  It  was  one  of  her  favourite  fan- 
cies that  each  tree  had  its  peculiar  language,  suited 
to  its  character  for  majesty,  solemnity,  or  grace,  and 
that  she  could  distinguish  with  closed  eyes  the  meas- 
ured tones  of  the  oak  or  elm,  the  funereal  sighs  of  the 
cypress,  or  the  sensitive  murmurs  of  the  willow  or 
poplar !  From  some  particular  train  of  association, 
she  took  great  delight  in  seeing  the  waving  boughs  of 
trees  through  a  church  window.  All  legends  and 
superstitions  regarding  trees  and  flowers,  were  pecu- 
liarly dear  to  her.  When  alluding  to  these,  and  sim- 
ilar fables,  she  would  often  quote  the  well-known  lines 
from  Schiller — 

"  Wage  du  zu  irren  und  zu  traumen, 
Hohen  sinn  liegt  oft  in  kind'schem  spiel." 2 

1  See  Preface  to  the  First  Volume  of  Wordsworth's  Poetical 
Works. 

2 "  Oh  !  fear  thou  not  to  dream  with  waking  eye :  — 
There  lies  deep  meaning  oft  in  childish  play." 

TheUa's  Song — Translated  by  Mrs.  Hemans. 


MEMOIR    OF    MRS.    HEMANS.  105 

One  of  her  favourites  amongst  the  many  traditions 
of  this  nature,  was  the  Welsh  legend  regarding  the 
trembling  of  the  aspen,1  which,  with  a  kindred  super- 
stition relating  to  the  spotted  arum,  will  be  found 
mentioned  in  the  Woodwalk  and  Hymn,  in  Scenes  and 
Hymns  of  Life.  And  in  the  two  sonnets,  entitled 
"  Thoughts  connected  with  Trees,"  which  form  part 
of  the  Records  of  the  Spring  of  1834,  she  has  revealed 
to  us  yet  more  distinctly  how  much  "  deep  meaning" 
their  "  kindly  whisperings"  and  "old  sweet  leaf  sounds" 
brought  home  to  her  breast.' 

The  howling  of  the  wind  at  night  had  a  very  pecu- 
liar effect  upon  her  nerves — nothing  in  the  least 
approaching  to  the  sensation  of  fear,  as  few  were 
more  exempt  from  that  class  of  alarms  usually  called 
nervous;  but  working  upon  her  imagination  to  a 
degree  which  was  always  succeeded  by  a  reaction  of 
fatigue  and  exhaustion.  The  solemn  influences  thus 
mysteriously  exercised,  are  alluded  to  in  many  of  her 
poems,  particularly  in  The  Song  of  Night,2  and  in 
The  Voice  of  the  Wind. 

1 A  somewhat  similar  tradition  appears  to  exist  in  Denmark, 
as  shown  by  a  poem  of  Ingemann's,  of  which  a  translation  was 
given  in  the  Foreign  Quarterly  Review  for  June,  1830. 

a  "Among  the  many  congenial  ideas  she  found  in  the  writings 
of  Richter,  the  following  passage  relating  to  Night  was  singu- 
larly in  unison  with  her  own  feelings : — « The  earth  is  every  day 
overspread  with  the  veil  of  Night,  for  the  same  reason  as  the 
cages  of  birds  are  darkened,  that  we  may  the  more  readily 
apprehend  the  higher  harmonies  of  thought  in  the  hush  and  quiet 
of  darkness.  Thoughts,  which  day  turns  into  smoke  and  mist, 
stand  about  us  in  the  night  as  lights  and  flames,  even  as  the 
column  which  fluctuates  above  the  crater  of  Vesuvius,  in  the  day 
time  appears  a  pillar  of  cloud,  but  by  night  a  pillar  of  fire.'  " 


106  MEMOIR    OF    MRS.  HEMANS. 

The  sight  and  sound  of  the  sea  were  always  con- 
nected in  her  mind  with  melancholy  associations ;  with 

"  Doubt,  and  something  dark, 
Of  the  old  Sea  some  reverential  fear ;" x 

with  images  of  storm  and  desolation,  of  shipwreck  and 
sea-burial :  the  last,  indeed,  was  so  often  present  to 
her  imagination,  and  has  so  frequently  been  introduced 
into  her  poetry,  that  any  one  inclined  to  superstitious 
presentiments  might  also  have  been  disposed  to  fancy 
it  a  fore-shadowing  of  some  such  dark  fate  in  store 
either  for  herself  or  for  some  one  dear  to  her.  These 
associations,  like  those  awakened  by  the  wind,  were 
perfectly  distinct  from  any  thing  of  personal  timidity, 
and  were  the  more  indefinable,  as  she  had  never  suf- 
fered any  calamity  at  all  connected  with  the  sea :  none 
of  those  she  loved  had  been  consigned  to  its  reckless 
waters,  nor  had  she  ever  seen  it  in  all  its  terrors,  for 
the  coast  on  which  her  early  years  were  passed  is  by 
no  means  a  rugged  or  dangerous  one,  and  is  seldom 
visited  by  disaster. 

In  one  of  her  later  sonnets2  on  this  subject,  a  chord 
is  struck,  which  may  perhaps  find  an  echo  in  other 
bosoms: — 

"  Yet,  O  blue  deep  ! 

Thou  that  no  trace  of  human  hearts  dost  keep, 

Never  to  thee  did  love  with  silvery  chain 

Draw  my  soul's  dream,  which  through  all  nature  sought 

What  waves  deny, — some  bower  of  steadfast  bliss, 

A  home  to  twine  with  fancy,  feeling,  thought, 

As  with  sweet  flowers:  —  But  chastened  Hope  for  this, 

1  Wordsworth.  2  "  A  Thought  of  the  Sea." 


MEMOIR    OF    MRS.  HEMANS.  107 

Now  turns  from  earth's  green  valleys  as  from  thee, 

To  that  sole  changeless  world,  where  there  is  no  more  sea." 

The  same  feeling  is  expressed  in  one  of  her  letters : 
— "  Did  you  ever  observe  how  strangely  sounds  and 
images  of  waters — rushing  torrents,  and  troubled  ocean 
waves,  are  mingled  with  the  visionary  distresses  of 
dreams  and  delirium  ?  To  me  there  is  no  more  per- 
fect emblem  of  peace  than  that  expressed  by  the 
Scriptural  phrase,  "  there  shall  be  no  more  sea." 

How  forcible  is  the  contrast  between  the  essential 
womanliness  of  these  associations,  so  full  of  "  the  still 
sad  music  of  humanity,"  and  the  "  stern  delight"  with 
which  Lord  Byron,  in  his  magnificent  apostrophe  to 
the  sea,  exults  in  its  ministry  of  wrath,  and  recounts, 
as  with  a  fierce  joy,  its  dealings  with  its  victim,  man ! 

"The  vile  strength  he  wields 

For  earth's  destruction,  thou  dost  all  despise, 
Spurning  him  from  thy  bosom  to  the  skies, 
And  send'st  him,  shivering  in  thy  playful  spray, 
And  howling,  to  his  Gods,  where  haply  lies 
His  petty  hope  in  some  near  port  or  bay, 
And  dashesl  him  again  to  earth :  —  there  let  him  lay !" 

Childe  Harold,  Canto  iv.  Stanza  CLXXX. 

In  the  spring  of  1825,  Mrs.  Hemans,  with  her  mother 
and  sister,  and  four  of  her  boys,  (che  eldest  having 
been  placed  at  school  at  Bangor,)  removed  from  Bron- 
wylfa  to  Rhyllon,  another  house  belonging  to  her 
brother,  not  more  than  a  quarter  of  a  mile  from  the 
former  place,  and  in  full  view  from  its  windows.  The 
distance  being  so  inconsiderable,  this  could,  in  fact, 
scarcely  be  considered  as  a  removal.  The  two  houses, 
each  situated  on  an  eminence,  on  opposite  sides  of  the 


108  MEMOIR    OF    MRS.  HEMAN3. 

river  Clvvyd,  confronted  each  other  so  conveniently, 
that  a  telegraphic  communication  was  established  be- 
tween them  (by  means  of  a  regular  set  of  signals  and 
vocabulary,  similar  to  those  made  use  of  in  the  navy), 
and  was  carried  on  for  a  season  with  no  little  spirit, 
greatly  to  the  amusement  of  their  respective  inhabi- 
tants. 

Toothing  could  be  less  romantic  than  the  outward 
appearance  of  Mrs.  Hemans's  new  residence — a  tall, 
staring  brick  house,  almost  destitute  of  trees,  and 
unadorned  (far,  indeed,  from  being  thus  "  adorned 
the  most")  by  the  covering  mantle  of  honeysuckle, 
jessamine,  or  any  such  charitable  drapery.1  Bron- 
wylfa,  on  the  contrary,  was  a  perfect  bower  of^ roses, 
and  peeped  out  like  a  bird's  nest  from  amidst  the 
foliage  in  which  it  was  embosomed.  The  contrast 
between  the  two  dwellings  was  thus  playfully  des- 
canted upon  by  Mrs.  Hernans,  in  her  contribution  to 
a  set  of  jeux  d'  esprit,  called  the  Bronwylfa  Budget 
for  1825. 

DRAMATIC   SCENE    BETWEEN   BRONWYLFA    AND   RHYLLON.2 

BRONWYLFA,  after  standing"  for  some  time  in  silent  contempla- 
tion O/RHYLLON,  breaks  out  into  the  following  vehement  strain 
of  vituperation :  — 

"  You  ugliest  of  fabrics  !  you  horrible  eye-sore  ! 
I  wish  you  would  vanish,  or  put  on  a  vizor! 

1  Its  conspicuousness  has  since  been  a  good  deal  modified  by 
the  lowering  of  one  story,  and  by  the  growth  of  the  surrounding 
plantations. 

3  Bronwylfa  is  pronounced  as  if  written  Bronwilva ;  and  per- 
haps the  nearest  English  approach  to  the  pronunciation  of  Rhyl- 
lon,  would  be,  by  supposing  it  to  be  spelt  Rulhlon,  the  u  sounded 
as  in  but. 


MEMOIR    OF    MRS.  HEMANS.  109 

In  the  face  of  the  sun,  without  covering  or  rag  on, 
You  stand  and  out-stare  me,  like  any  red  dragon. 
With  your  great  green-eyed  windows,  in  boldness  a  host, 
(The  only  green  things  which,  indeed,  you  can  boast), 
With  your  forehead  as  high,  and  as  bare  as  the  pate 
Which  an  eagle  once  took  for  a  stone  or  a  slate,1 
You  lift  yourself  up,  o'er  the  country  afar, 
As  who  should  say — "  Look  at  me ! — here  stands  great  R !' 
I  plant — I  rear  forest  trees  —  shrubs  great  and  small, 
To  wrap  myself  up  in  —  you  peer  through  them  all ! 
With  your  lean  scraggy  neck  o'er  my  poplars  you  rise ; 
You  watch  all  my  guests  with  your  wide  saucer  eyes ;  — 

(In  a  paroxysm  of  rage)  — 

You  monster!     I  would  I  could  waken  some  morning, 
And  find  you  had  taken  French  leave  without  warning; 
You  should  never  be  sought  like  Aladdin's  famed  palace — 
You  spoil  my  sweet  temper — you  make  me  bear  malice— 
For  it  is  a  hard  fate,  I  will  say  it  and  sing, 
Which  has  fixed  me  to  gaze  on  so  frightful  a  thing." 

RHYLLON — (with  dignified  equanimity') — 
Content  thee,  Bronwylfa,  what  means  all  this  rage? 
This  sudden  attack  on  my  quiet  old  agel 
I  am  no  parvenu — you  and  I,  my  good  brother, 
Have  stood  here  this  century  facing  each  other; 
And  /  can  remember  the  days  that  are  gone, 
When  your  sides  were  no  better  array'd  than  my  own. 
Nay,  the  truth  shall  be  told — since  you  flout  me,  restore 
The  tall  scarlet  woodbine  you  took  from  my  door! 
Since  my  baldness  is  mock'd,  and  I'm  forced  to  explain, 
Pray  give  me  my  large  laurustinus  again. 

(With  a  tone  of  prophetic  solemnity) — 
Bronwylfa !  Bronwylfa !  thus  insolent  grown, 
Your  pride  and  your  poplars  alike  must  come  down ! 
I  look  through  the  future  (and  far  I  can  see, 
As  St.  Asaph  and  Denbigh  will  answer  for  me,) 

1  Bronwylfa  is  here  supposed  to  allude  to  the  pate  of  JEschylus, 
upon  which  an  eagle  dropped  a  tortoise  to  crack  the  shell. 
VOL.  I. 10 


110  MEMOIR    OF    MRS.  HEMANS. 

And  in  spite  of  thy  scorn,  and  of  all  thou  hast  done, 

From  my  kind  heart's  brick  bottom,  I  pity  thee,  Bron ! 

The  end  of  thy  toiling  and  planting  will  be, 

That  thou  wilt  want  sunshine,  and  ask  it  of  me. 

Thou  wilt  say,  when  thou  wak'st,  looking  out  for  the  light, 

"I  suppose  it  is  morning,  for  Rhyllon  looks  bright." 

While  I — my  green  eyes  with  their  tears  overflow. 

(Tenderly)— 
Come — let  us  be  friends,  as  we  were  long  ago." 

In  spite,  however,  of  the  unromantic  exterior  of 
her  new  abode,  the  earlier  part  of  Mrs.  Hemans's 
residence  at  Rhyllon,  may,  perhaps,  be  considered  as 
the  happiest  of  her  life ;  as  far,  at  least,  as  the  term 
happiness  could  ever  be  fitly  applied  to  any  period 
of  it  later  than  childhood.  The  house,  with  all  its 
ugliness,  was  large  and  convenient ;  the  view  from 
its  windows  beautiful  and  extensive,  and  its  situation, 
on  a  fine  green  slope,  terminating  in  a  pretty  wood- 
land dingle,  peculiarly  healthy  and  cheerful.  Never, 
perhaps,  had  she  more  thorough  enjoyment  of  her 
boys  than  in  witnessing,  and  often  joining  in,  their 
sports,  in  those  pleasant  breezy  fields,  where  the  kites 
soared  so  triumphantly,  and  the  hoops  trundled  so 
merrily,  and  where  the  cowslips  grew  as  cowslips  had 
never  grown  before.  *  An  atmosphere  of  home  soon 
gathered  round  the  dwelling ;  roses  were  planted, 
and  honeysuckles  trained,  and  the  rustling  of  the 
solitary  poplar  near  her  window  was  taken  to  her 
heart,  like  the  voice  of  a  friend.  The  dingle  became 
a  favourite  haunt,  where  she  would  pass  many  dream- 
like hours  of  enjoyment  with  her  books,  and  her  own 
sweet  fancies,  and  her  children  playing  around  her. 
Every  tree  and  flower,  and  tuft  of  moss  that  sprung 


MEMOIR    OF    MRS.  HEMANS.  Ill 

amidst  its  green  recesses,  was  invested  with  some  in  • 
dividual  charm  by  that  rich  imagination,  so  skilled  in 

"Clothing  the  palpable  and  the  familiar, 
With  golden  exhalations  of  the  dawn."  l 

Here,  on  what  the  boys  would  call  "  mamma's 
sofa"  —  a  little  grassy  mound  under  her  favourite 
beech-tree — she  first  read  The  Talisman,  and  has 
described  the  scene  with  a  loving  minuteness  in  her 
Hour  of  Romance. 

"  There  were  thick  leaves  ahove  me  and  around, 

And  low  sweet  sighs,  like  those  of  childhood's  sleep, 
Amidst  their  dimness,  and  a  fitful  sound 

As  of  soft  showers  on  water.     Dark  and  deep 
Lay  the  oak  shadows  o'er  the  turf — so  still, 
They  seem'd  but  pictured  glooms;  a  hidden  rill 
Made  music  —  such  as  haunts  us  in  a  dream  — 
Under  the  fern-tufts;  and  a  tender  glearn 
Of  soft  green  light  —  as  by  the  glow-worm  shed  — 
Came  pouring  through  the  woven  beech-boughs  down." 

Many  years  after,  in  the  sonnet  "  To  a  Distant 
Scene,"  she  addresses,  with  a  fond  yearning,  this  well- 
remembered  haunt: — 

"  Still  are  the  cowslips  from  thy  bosom  springing, 
O  far-off  grassy  dell !" 

How  many  precious  memories  has  she  hung  round 
the  thought  of  the  cowslip,  that  flower,  with  its  "  gold 
coat"  and  "  fairy  favours,"  which  is,  of  all  others,  so 
associated  with  the  "  voice  of  happy  childhood,"  and 
was,  to  her,  ever  redolent  of  the  hours  when  her 
"  Heart  so  leapt  to  that  sweet  laughter's  tone  j" 

1  Coleridge's  Translation  of  Wallenstein. 


112  MEMOIR    OF    MRS.  HEMANS. 

Another  favourite  resort  was  the  picturesque  old 
bridge  over  the  Clwyd ;  and  when  her  health  (which 
was  subject  to  continual  variation,  but  was  at 
this  time  more  robust  than  usual)  admitted  of  more 
aspiring  achievements,  she  delighted  in  roaming  to 
the  hills ;  and  the  announcement  of  a  walk  to  Cwm,1 
a  remote  little  hamlet,  nestled  in  a  mountain  hollow, 
amidst  very  lovely  sylvan  scenery,  .about  two  miles 
from  Rhyllon,  would  be  joyously  echoed  by  her 
elated  companions,  to  whom  the  recollection  of  these 
happy  rambles  must  always  be  unspeakably  dear. 
Very  often,  at  the  outset  of  these  expeditions,  the 
party  would  be  reinforced  by  the  addition  of  a  cer- 
tain little  Kitty  Jones,  a  child  from  a  neighbouring 
cottage,  who  had  taken  an  especial  fancy  to  Mrs. 
Hemans,  and  was  continually  watching  her  move- 
ments. This  little  creature  never  saw  her  without 
at  once  attaching  itself  to  her  side,  and  confidingly 
placing  its  tiny  hand  in  hers.  So  great  was  her  love 
for  children,  and  her  repugnance  to  hurt  the  feelings 
of  any  living  creature,  that  she  never  would  shake 
off  this  singular  appendage,  but  let  little  Kitty  rejoice 
in  her  "pride  of  place,"  till  the  walk  became  too 
long  for  her  capacity,  and  she  would  quietly  fall 
behind  of  her  own  accord. 

Those  who  only  know  the  neighbourhood  of  St. 
Asaph,  from  travelling  along  its  high-ways,  can  be 
little  aware  how  much  delightful  scenery  is  attainable, 
within  walks  of  two  or  three  miles  distance  from  Mrs. 
Hemans's  residence.  The  placid  beauty  of  the  Clwyd, 
and  the  wilder  graces  of  its  sister  stream,  the  Elwy, 

1  Pronounced  Coom. 


MEMOIR    OF    MRS.  HEMANS.  113 

particularly  in  the  vicinity  of  "  Our  Lady's  Well/' 
and  the  interesting  rocks  and  caves  at  Cefn,  are  little 
known  to  general  tourists ;  though,  by  the  lovers  of 
her  poetry,  it  will  be  remembered  how  sweetly  she 
has  apostrophised  the 

"  Fount  of  the  chapel,  with  ages  grey  ;"  1 

and  how  tenderly,  amidst  far  different  scenes,  her 
thoughts  reverted  to  the 

"Cambrian  river,  with  slow  music  gliding 
By  pastoral  hills,  old  woods,  and  ruined  towers."2 

Every  day  was  now  bringing  some  fresh  proof  of 
Mrs.  Hemans's  widely  extending  fame,  and  more 
especially  of  the  unprecedented  favour  with  which 
her  writings  were  regarded  in  America.  Many  testi- 
monials had  reached  her  from  various  quarters,  of  the 
high  estimation  in  which  she  was  held  on  the  other 
side  of  the  Atlantic ;  and  she  had  already  been  en- 
gaged in  a  pleasant  interchange  of  correspondence 
with  Dr.  Bancroft,  the  talented  author  of  The  History 
of  the  United  States,  who  was  amongst  the  first  to 
distinguish  her  works  amongst  his  countrymen,  by 
public  criticism,  or  rather  eulogy.  But,  in  the  autumn 
of  this  year  (1825,)  a  still  more  direct  communication 
was  opened  for  her  with  a  country  to  which  she  was 
thenceforward  to  be  bound  by  so  many  ties  of  grate- 
ful and  kindly  feeling.  This  delightful  intercourse 
owed  its  beginning  to  the  arrival  —  unexpected,  as 

1  Our  Lady's  Well. 

a  Sonnet  "  To  the  River  Clwyd  in  North  Wales." 
10* 


114  MEMOIR    OF    MRS.  HEMANS. 

though  it  had  fallen  from  the  clouds — of  a  packet 
from  Boston,  containing  a  letter  of  self-introduction 
from  Professor  Norton,  of  Cambridge  University,  New 
England,  informing  her  that  a  complete  edition  of  her 
works  was  wished  for  at  Boston,  and  most  liberally 
offering  to  superintend  its  publication,  and  secure  the 
profits  for  her  benefit.  This  packet,  which  also  in- 
cluded some  interesting  specimens  of  American  litera- 
ture, after  crossing  the  Atlantic  in  safety,  had  a  nar- 
row escape  of  being  consigned  to  the  "  treasures  of 
the  deep,"  by  a  disaster  which  occurred  to  the  party 
who  had  the  charge  of  it,  in  traversing  the  Ulver- 
stone  Sands.  But  it  would  seem  as  if  a  missive  so 
fraught  with  genuine  kindness — such  as  could  proceed 
only  from  the  best  and  highest  feelings  of  our  nature 
— bore  within  itself  a  spell  to  resist  all  "  moving  acci- 
dents by  flood  and  field."  By  the  courtesy  of  a  stran- 
ger, it  was  singled  out  from  a  motley  pile  of  other 
flotsome  and  jetsome  found  drying  at  the  kitchen  fire 
of  a  little  inn  on  the  coast  of  Lancashire,  and  care- 
fully forwarded  to  the  destination  where  it  was  to 
'impart  so  much  gratification,  and  lead  to  such  valu- 
able results.  Mrs.  Hemans  took  infinite  pleasure  in 
recounting  the  singular  adventures  of  this  memorable 
packet ;  and  the  "  sea  change"  which  all  its  contents 
had  suffered,  more  particularly  a  handsomely  bound 
volume,  The  Life  of  Mr.  Charles  Eliot,  written  by 
the  Professor  himself — made  them  only  the  more  pre- 
cious in  her  eyes.  From  this  time  forward,  the  arri- 
val of  such  welcome  tributes  became  of  continual 
occurrence,  and  she  was  supplied  with  all  that  was 
most  interesting  in  transatlantic  literature,  either 


MEMOIR    OF    MRS.  HEMANS.  115 

through  the  munificence  of  Mr.  Norton,  or  the  kind- 
ness of  the  respective  authors,  with  some  of  whom 
she  was  thus  brought  into  direct  communication.  In 
this  manner  she  made  acquaintance  with  the  noble 
writings  of  Dr.  Channing,  and  entered  into  a  corre- 
spondence with  that  distinguished  author,  for  whose 
lofty  eloquence  and  fervent  inculcations  of  truth  and 
morality,  she  entertained  the  highest  respect,  though 
the  religious  convictions  in  which  she  differed  from 
him  so  widely,  were  absolutely  a  part  of  her  being, 
and,  if  possible,  gained  strength  with  every  year  of 
her  life.  In  her  letters  of  this  period,  there  is  per- 
petual allusion  to  the  enjoyment  spread  throughout 
the  household  by  every  fresh  arrival  from  Boston. 
The  unfolding  of  the  various  treasures  was  a  treat  to 
old  and  young;  and  the  peculiar  odour  of  the  pine 
wood  which  the  books  used  to  imbibe  from  the  cases 
on  their  voyage,  was  greeted  as  "  the  American  smell," 
almost  as  joyfully  as  the  aromatic  breezes  of  the  New 
World  were  first  inhaled  by  Columbus  and  his  com- 
panions. On  one  occasion,  Mrs.  Hemans  was  some- 
what ludicrously  disenchanted,  through  the  medium 
of  a  North  American  Review,  on  the  subject  of  a 
self-constituted  hero,  whose  history  (which  suggested 
her  little  poem,  The  Child  of  the  Forests)  she  had 
read  with  unquestioning  faith  and  lively  interest. 
This  was  the  redoubtable  John  Dunn  Hunter,  whose 
marvellous  adventures  amongst  the  Indians — by  whom 
he  represented  himself  to  have  been  carried  away  in 
childhood — were  worked  up  into  a  plausible  narrative, 
admirably  calculated  to  excite  the  sympathies  of  its 
readers.  But  how  far  it  was  really  deserving  of  them, 


116  MEMOIR    OF    MRS.  HEMANS. 

may  be  judged  by  the  following  extract  from  a  letter 
to  a  friend  who  had  been  similarly  mystified: — "I 
send  you  a  North  American  Review,  which  will 
mortify  C.  and  you  with  the  sad  intelligence  that  John 
Hunter  —  even  our  own  John  Dunn  —  the  man  of  the 
panther's  skin — the  adopted  of  the  Kansas — the 
shooter  with  the  rifle — no,  with  the  long  bow — is,  I 
blush  to  say  it,  neither  more  nor  less  than  an  impostor ; 
no  better  than  Psalmanazar  ;  no,  no  better  than  Car- 
raboo  herself.  After  this,  .what  are  we  to  believe 
again  ?  Are  there  any  Loo  Choo  Islands  1  Was  there 
ever  any  Robinson  Crusoe  ?  Is  there  any  Rammohun 
Roy  ?  All  one's  faith  and  trust  is  shaken  to  its  foun- 
dations. No  one  here  sympathises  with  me  properly 
on  this  annoying  occasion ;  but  you,  I  think,  will  know 
how  to  feel,  who  have  been  quite  as  much  devoted  to 
that  vile  John  Dunn  as  myself." 

Thus  pleasantly  passed  the  first  year  of  Mrs.  He- 
mans's  residence  at  Rhyllon ;  enlivened  by  so  many 
tokens  of  good  will  from  afar,  and  blessed  by  health, 
sustaining  love,  and  social  enjoyment  at  home,  where 
the  family  circle  had  lately  been  increased  by  the 
welcome  return  of  her  second  brother1  and  his  wife, 
after  an  absence  of  several  years  in  Canada.  In  this 
kindly  atmosphere  of  household  affection,  she  cou- 
rageously persevered  in  her  daily  routine  of  duties, 
accomplishing  them  with  a  facility  astonishing  even 
to  those  who  best  knew  her  powers ;  and  after  long 
mornings  of  application, — hours  spent  first  of  all  in 
the  instruction  of  her  children,  then  in  answering 

1  Now  Major  Browne,  Commissioner  of  Police  in  Dublin. 


MEMOIR    OF    MRS.  HEMANS.  117 

countless  letters,  and  satisfying  the  pressing  claims  of 
impatient  editors, — she  would  shake  off  the  burthen 
of  care,  "  like  dew-drops  from  a  lion's  mane,"  and 
emerge  into  the  fresh  air  with  all  the  glad  buoyancy 
of  a  school-boy  released  from  his  tasks,  and  with  that 
pure,  child-like  enjoyment  of  the  world  out  of  doors, 
which  made 

"The  common  air,  the  earth,  the  skies, 
To  her  an  opening  Paradise." 

"  Soft  winds  and  bright  blue  skies"  (to  quote  from  one 
of  her  own  letters)  "  make  me,  or  dispose  me  to  be,  a 
sad  idler ;  and  it  is  only  by  an  effort,  and  a  strong 
feeling  of  necessity,  that  I  can  fix  my  mind  steadily 
to  any  sedentary  pursuit  when  the  sun  is  shining  over 
the  mountains,  and  the  birds  singing  '  at  heaven's 
gate ;'  but  I  find  frost  and  snow  most  salutary  moni- 
tors, and  always  make  exertion  my  enjoyment  during 
their  continuance.  For  this  reason  I  must  say  I  delight 
in  the  utmost  rigour  of  winter,  which  almost  seems  to 
render  it  necessary  that  the  mind  should  become  fully 
acquainted  with  its  own  resources,  and  find  means,  in 
drawing  them  forth,  to  cheer  '  with  mental  light  the 
melancholy  day.'  "  * 

The  tranquil  cheerfulness  of  this  period  of  Mrs. 
Hemans's  life,  was  destined  to  be  but  too  soon  over- 
shadowed by  the  sorrow  and  sickness  of  some  of  the 
dearest  objects  of  her  affections.  The  spring  of  1826 
was  clouded  by  severe  affliction  in  the  house  of  her 
eldest  brother,  whose  once  joyous  hearth  was  now  left 
lonely  and  deserted ;  and  this  visitation  was  speedily 
followed  by  an  alarming  change  in  the  health  of  that 
admirable  mother,  whose  unwearied  spirit  of  active 


118  MEMOIR    OF    MRS.  HEMANS. 

self-forgetting,  hopeful  exertion,  had  ever  been  the 
mainspring  of  happiness  to  all  around  her.  So  accus- 
tomed were  her  children  to  her  all-pervading  superin- 
tendence— so  indispensable  seemed  her  patient  coun- 
sels, her  ready  sympathy,  her  unfailing  love,  that  the 
idea  of  her  ever  being  taken  away  from  them,  seemed 
a  thing  impossible  to  contemplate :  they  would  have 
thought  the  world  (their  own  little  world  at  least) 
could  not  go  on  without  her.  And  when,  after  the 
fluctuating  symptoms  of  a  tedious  illness  of  eight 
months,  and  all  those  melancholy  gradations  which 
mark  from  day  to  day  the  increasing  weakness  of  the 
sufferer — whose  dear  companionship  is  first  missed 
from  the  daily  walk,  then  from  the  household  meal 
and  the  family  prayer,  and  lastly,  to  be  found  only  in 
the  chamber  of  sickness  itself — when  after  a  sorrow- 
ful familiarity  with  all  these  indications  of  failing 
strength,  the  rapid  increase  of  her  danger  could  no 
longer  be  hid  from  their  eyes — there  was  still,  even  to 
the  very  end,  an  obstinacy  of  hope  within  their  hearts. 
Her  own  extraordinary  mental  energy  and  unsubdued 
cheerfulness — for  her  death,  like  her  life,  was  an 
exemplification  of  the  beautiful  maxim,  that 
"  True  piety  is  cheerful  as  the  day" — 

were,  indeed,  almost  sufficient  to  excuse  this  fond  delu- 
sion. Her  warm-hearted  interest  in  all  that  was  pass- 
ing around  her,  was  never  extinguished  by  weariness 
or  suffering ;  and  that  pure  flame  of  maternal  pride 
which  burnt  steadiest  to  the  last,  was  brightened 
within  a  very  few  days  of  her  death,  by  the  arrival 
of  a  treasure-store  of  fresh  tributes  from  the  "  far 
West" — tributes,  not  merely  of  homage  to  the  genius 


MEMOIR    OF    MRS.  HEMANS.  119 

of  the  poet,  but  of  veneration  for  the  high  moral  pur- 
poses to  which  that  genius  was  directed.  Such  records 
were  fitted  to  excite  feelings  far  too  deep  for  vanity 
in  her  to  wrhom  they  were  addressed,  and  were  meet 
offerings  to  be  laid  on  the  dying  bed  of  the  mother, 
from  whom  had  been  imbibed  her  love  for  "  whatso- 
ever things  are  true,  whatsoever  things  are  holy,"  and 
whose  fading  eyes  lighted  up  with  exulting  fondness 
at  these  proofs  of  distant  fame,  which  seemed  to  her, 
as  she  emphatically  declared,  "  like  a  bright  star  in 
the  West."1 

At  length  the  solemn  moment  came,  when  those 
kind  eyes  were  sealed  for  ever.  With  what  feelings 
this  stroke  had  been  anticipated,  may  be  seen  in  the 
"  Hymn  by  a  bed  of  sickness,"  written  almost  at  the 
last ;  how  deeply  it  was  felt,  yet  how  meekly  borne, 
is  best  shown  in  Mrs.  Hemans's  own  words,  taken  from 
a  letter — one  of  the  first  she  wrote  after  her  bereave- 
ment, to  an  old  and  much  valued  friend. 

"  I  cannot  suffer  you  to  remain  in  anxiety  about 
me,  which  I  know  is  painful.  My  soul  is  indeed 
'  exceeding  sorrowful,"  dear  friend ;  but,  thank  God  ! 


1  One  of  the  last  things  on  which  she  looked,  was  a  little  view 
of  "  Bronwylfa,  the  residence  of  Mrs.  Hemans,"  which  had  been 
lithographed  in  America ;  and  the  last  poem  she  listened  to  was 
the  "  Domestic  Scene,"  afterwards  published  with  the  Hymns 
for  Childhood.  In  alluding  to  these  lines  some  months  after- 
wards, Mrs.  Hemans  wrote — "  I  read  them  to  her  by  her  bed- 
side, about  three  weeks  before  I  was  deprived  of  her,  and  the 
tender  pleasure  with  which  she  heard  them,  has  rendered  them 
to  me  a  '  thing  set  apart.'  "  And  the  holy  scene  they  record  (a 
picture  from  real  life)  was  worthy  of  being  enshrined  in  recol- 
lections so  sacred. 


120  MEMOIR    OF    MRS.    HEMANS. 

I  can  tell  you  that  composure  is  returning  to  me,  and 
that  I  am  enabled  to  resume  those  duties  which  so 
imperiously  call  me  hack  to  life.  What  I  have  lost, 
none  better  knows  than  yourself.  I  have  lost  the 
faithful,  watchful,  patient  love,  which  for  years  had 
been  devoted  to  me  and  mine  ;  and  I  feel  that  the  void 
it  has  left  behind,  must  cause  me  to  bear  '  a  yearning 
heart  within  me  to  the  grave ;'  but  I  have  her  exam- 
ple before  me,  and  I  must  not  allow  myself  to  sink. 

"  You  have,  I  know,  been  told  of  the  wonderful 
collectedness  she  displayed  to  the  last.  Sickness  and 
suffering,  and  sorrowful  affection  we  have  witnessed ; 
but  no  despondence,  no  perplexity,  nothing  which  can 
in  any  way  connect  horror  with  the  awfulness  of  death. 
I  was  almost  in  a  stupor  for  a  few  days  after,  but  it 
is  past,  and  I  do  not  think  my  health  will  suffer,  though 
I  now  feel  wearied  and  worn,  and  longing,  as  she  did, 
for  rest.  That  rest  was  almost,  indeed,  perfect  in  her 
last  hours,  so  deep  and  still  was  the  slumber  into  which 
she  had  sunk,  and  which  our  selfish  hearts  almost 
longed  to  hear  broken  even  by  the  renewed  sickness 
of  the  preceding  night ;  for  the  utter  separation  from 
us  implied  by  such  a  state  of  solemn  tranquillity, 
seemed  almost  '  greater  than  we  could  bear.'  Oh ! 
this  earthly  weakness,  when  we  should  praise  God  for 
one  '  departed  this  life  in  His  faith  and  fear." 

In  a  subsequent  letter  she  thus  alluded  to  her 
mother's  room.  "  I  have  frequently  entered  it  since 
its  privation,  and,  indeed,  am  in  the  habit  of  going 
there  when  my  heart  is  more  than  usually  oppressed. 
It  seems  to  me  almost  a  place  of  refuge  from  care 


MEMOIR    OF    MRS.  HEMANS.  121 

and  fear,   which    too   often   weigh   down   my   spirit 
heavily." 

This  passage  brings  involuntarily  to  remembrance 
the  beautiful  lines  of  Young  — 

"The  chamber  where  the  good  man  meets  his  fate, 
Is  privileged  beyond  the  common  walk 
Of  virtuous  life;  —  quite  in  the  verge  of  Heaven." 

The  following  letter,  addressed  to  the  same  friend 
(then  suffering  from  sorrows  of  her  own),  though  not 
written  till  some  months  later,  belongs  so  completely 
to  the  same  train  of  feeling,  as  to  claim  an  introduction 
in  this  place. 

"  I  have  been  haunted,  since  the  arrival  of  your  last 
sad  letter,  by  an  anxiety  to  write  to  you,  which  it  has 
not,  until  to-day,  been  in  my  power  to  fulfil.  The 
intelligence  startled  us  most  painfully ;  I  almost  felt 
as  if  I  had  known  the  amiable  and  beloved  friend 
who  is  lost  to  you ;  and  words  are  inadequate  to  ex- 
press what  one  feels  for  her  sister,  who  had  so  much 
interested  us.  So  sudden  a  shock,  too !  —  and  yet 
they  talk  of  preparation; — alas!  we  are  ever  unpre- 
pared for  the  stroke  which  deprives  us  of  those  we 
love ;  it  is  impossible  to  believe  it  at  hand ;  I  sup- 
pose from  the  impossibility  of  conceiving  that  we  can 
and  must  live  without  them.  I  think  first,  naturally, 
of  her  who  is  most  bereaved ;  but  I  well  know  what 
you  too  must  have  felt  upon  this  breaking  of  a  tie  of 
many  years;  and  wish  I  were  near  you  to  give  you 
such  comfort  as  I  could.  I  have  received  a  letter  of 
consolation  from  Mr.  Norton,  on  my  own  affliction, 
from  which  I  must  copy  you  a  part.  If  any  human 

VOL.  I. 11 


122  MEMOIR    OF    MRS.  HEMANS. 

comfort  could  avail,  it  would  surely  be  a  view  so  pure 
and  elevating  as  this.  I  think,  when  the  poor  mourner 
may  be  supposed  to  have  regained  a  little  calmness,  I 
shall  write  and  send  it  to  her.  '  When  one  so  dear  is 
taken  away,  an  object  of  constant  reference,  respect, 
and  affection,  a  principal  part  of  all  our  enjoyments, 
a  support  in  all  affliction,  one  in  whom  we  had  lived, 
one  through  whom  the  Spirit  of  God  had  powerfully 
operated  to  produce  all  that  is  good  within  us  ;  the 
whole  aspect  of  things  is  changed,  and  the  world 
becomes  a  different  place  from  what  it  was  before. 
It  must  ever  remain  so.  But  in  time  perhaps  it  may 
become  even  a  better  and  a  brighter  spot.  The  thick 
veil  which  separates  it  from  the  World  of  Life  and 
Light,  has  been  broken  through  for  us  by  the  friend 
who  is  gone  before ;  and  beams  of  glory  may  find  their 
way  where  it  has  been  rent.  Between  us  and  that 
world,  a  new  and  most  affecting  connection  has  been 
formed ;  for  one  whom  we  most  loved  is  there.  A  deep 
feeling  of  the  reality  and  certainty  of  all  which  in 
truth  is  real  and  certain,  thus  becomes  permanent  in 
our  minds,  blending  itself  with  all  our  best  affections. 
Blessed  beyond  all  our  conceptions  of  happiness  are 
the  Dead  who  die  in  the  Lord.  They  have  rested 
from  the  labours  which  we  still  must  bear.  They 
have  gone  before  us  to  prepare  our  place  and  our 
welcome,  and  are  waiting  to  receive  us  again,  with 
more  than  human  love.  Amid  the  trials  of  life,  he 
who  feels  his  own  weakness,  must  sometimes  almost 
wish  that  he,  too,  were  as  secure.' 

"  This  is  surely  the  language  of  real  consolation ; 
how  different  from  that  which  attempts  to  soothe  us 


MEMOIR    OF    MRS.    HEMANS.  123 

by  general  remarks  on  the  common  lot,  the  course  of 
nature,  or  even  by  dwelling  on  the  release  of  the 
departed  from  pain  and  trial.  Alas !  I  know  by  sad 
experience,  that  the  very  allusion  to  those  pains  and 
trials  only  adds  tenfold  to  the  inexpressible  yearnings 
of  the  heart  when  all  is  over,  when  Love  can  do  no 
more." 

There  was  one  little  trait  which  Mrs.  Hemans  loved 
to  dwell  upon,  as  having  afforded  her  a  bright  gleam 
of  comfort  in  the  darkest  hour  of  her  affliction.  On 
the  evening  of  her  mother's  death,1  after  long  watch- 
ing in  the  solemn  stillness  of  the  sick-chamber,  she 
went  down  for  a  while  to  solace  her  oppressed  spirit 
with  the  looks  and  voices  of  her  children.  She  found 
them  all  sitting  hushed  and  awe-struck,  round  the  fire. 
They  looked  at  her  sad  face  with  sorrowful  wonder, 
and  her  "  little  George"  entreated  to  be  allowed  to 
read  her  a  chapter  in  the  Bible — "he  was  sure  it 
would  do  her  good."  May  he  never  lose  the  remem- 
brance of  that  holy  hour !  tenderly  as  it  was  recorded 
in  the  heart  of  his  mother,  who  thus  saw  fulfilled  her 
birthday  exhortation  to  him — 

"  Yet  ere  the  cares  of  life  lie  dim 

On  thy  young  spirit's  wings, 
Now  in  thy  morn,  forget  not  Him 

From  whom  each  pure  thought  springs. 

"  So,  in  the  onward  vale  of  tears, 

Where'er  thy  path  may  be, 
When  strength  hath  bow'd  to  evil  years, 
He  will  remember  thee.' 

Jllth  January,  1827. 


124  MEMOIR    OF    MRS.  HEMANS. 

It  is  affecting  to  remember  how  soon,  with  a  heart 
so  deeply  wounded,  she  resumed  the  daily  routine  of 
her  maternal  duties,  not  indulging  in  the  "  luxury  of 
grief,"  but  returning  to  her  appointed  tasks  with  all 
her  wonted  perseverance.  In  a  letter  relating  to  some 
French  books,  which  she  wished  to  procure  for  one 
of  her  boys,  she  goes  on  to  say, — "  He  has  done  with 
fables,  the  old  Veillees  du  Chateau,  &c.,  and  I  have 
not  really  the  heart  to  venture  upon  Telemaque,  which 
was  always  a  particular  aversion  of  mine.  I  think 
some  parts  of  the  Chateaux  Suisses  would  cheer  him 
on  a  little,  if  you  could  spare  them  for  a  time.  I  want 
to  excite  such  an  interest  in  the  language,  or  rather 
to  make  him  feel  so  much  at  home  in  it,  that  he  may 
seek  his  amusement  or  information  in  it  as  readily  as 
in  English.  It  is  well  for  me,  and  I  ought  to  be  thank- 
ful, that  I  have  these  objects  of  strong  and  permanent 
interest,  to  win  me  from  thoughts  too  deeply  tinged 
with  sorrow.  No  less  important  duties  could  have 
called  me  back  to  exertion  with  a  voice  at  once  so 
sweet  and  so  powerful." 

To  say  that  the  loss  of  her  mother  was  an  irre- 
parable one  to  Mrs.  Hemans,  is  saying  little.  From 
henceforth  she  was  to  be  a  stranger  to  any  thing  like 
an  equal  flow  of  quiet,  steadfast  happiness.  Fugitive 
enjoyments — entrancing  excitements — adulation  the 
most  intoxicating — society  the  most  brilliant — all 
these,  and  more  than  these,  were  hers  in  after  years ; 
but  the  old  home  feeling  of  shelter  and  security  was 
gone  for  ever — "removed  like  a  shepherd's  tent" — 
and  how  many  mournful  allusions  to  this  "  aching 
void"  were  henceforth  to  be  found  in  her  poetry  ;  how 


MEMOIR    OF    MRS.  HEMANS.  125 

many,  still  more  affecting,  were  poured  forth  in  her 
letters!1     Her  health,  too,  which  for  many  years  had 

1  There  is  a  very  touching  analogy  between  the  effects  of  her 
mother's  loss  upon  Mrs.  Hemans,  and  those  produced  by  a  simi- 
lar cause  upon  another  poetic  nature,  differing,  indeed,  from  hers 
as  darkness  from  light,  in  all  else  save  this  one  pure  feeling. 
The  heart-piercing  eloquence  of  the  following  letter  (taken 
from  an  article  on  the  Life  and  Writings  of  Werner,  in  the 
Foreign  Quarterly  Review,  for  January,  1838,)  must  find  an 
echo  in  so  many  bosoms,  that  any  excuse  for  its  introduction 
seems  unnecessary. 

"  Extract  of  a  letter  from  Werner  to  his  friend  Hitzig :  —  *  1 
know  not  whether  thoa  hast  heard  that  on  the  24th  of  February, 
my  mother  departed  here  in  my  arms.  My  friend !  God  knocks 
with  an  iron  hammer  at  our  hearts;  and  we  are  duller  than 
stone  if  we  do  not  feel  it,  and  madder  than  mad  if  we  think  it 
shame  to  cast  ourselves  into  the  dust  before  the  All-powerful, 
and  let  our  whole  so  highly  miserable  self  be  annihilated  in  the 
sentiment  of  His  infinite  greatness  and  long-suffering. 
****** 

"  This  death  of  my  mother  —  the  pure,  royal,  poet  and  martyr 
spirit,  who,  for  eight  years,  had  lain  continually  on  a  sick-bed, 
and  suffered  unspeakable  things,  affected  me  (much  as  for  her 
sake  I  could  not  but  wish  it)  with  altogether  agonizing  feelings. 
Ah  !  friend,  how  heavy  do  my  youthful  faults  lie  on  me.  How 
much  would  I  give  to  have  my  mother  back  to  me  but  one  week, 
that  I  might  disburthen  my  heavy-laden  heart  with  tears  of  re- 
pentance. My  beloved  friend  !  give  thou  no  grief  to  thy  parents ! 
Ah!  no  earthly  voice  can  wake  the  dead.  God  and  parents  — 
that  is.  the  first,  concern — all  else  is  secondary.' 

The  Reviewer  then  goes  on  to  observe —  "This  affection  for 
his  mother  forms,  as  it  were,  a  little  island  of  light  and  verdure 
in  Werner's  history,  where,  amid  so  much  that  is  dark  and  deso- 
late, one  feels  it  pleasant  to  linger. 

****** 

"  His  poor  mother,  while  alive,  was  the  haven  of  all  his  earthly 
wanderings ;  and  in  after  years,  from  amid  far  scenes  and  crusk- 
11* 


126  MEMOIR    OF    MRS.  HEMANS. 

been  so  delicate,  and  at  all  times  required  innumer- 
able precautions,  of  which  she  was  painfully  regard- 
less, now  began  to  give  token  of  alarming  fragility. 
The  inflammatory  symptoms  to  which  she  had  always 
had  a  tendency,  recurred  with  unwonted  frequency, 
and  she  became  liable  to  attacks  of  palpitation  of  the 
heart,  and  distressing  pain  at  the  chest.  These  would 
cause  for  a  time  complete  and  rapid  prostration  of 
strength ;  and  then,  with  that  natural  elasticity  for 
which  her  constitution  was  so  remarkable,  there  would 
be  an  equally  sudden  reaction,  and  she  would  seem, 
for  a  season,  to  have  shaken  off  all  disquieting  symp- 
toms. This  tremulous  state  of  health  was  naturally 
accompanied  by  corresponding  fluctuations  of  spirits ; 
and  their  fitful  gaiety,  through  which  an  under  cur- 
ing perplexities,  he  often  looks  back  to  her  grave  with  a  feeling 
to  which  all  bosoms  must  respond.  See,  for  example,  the  pre- 
face to  his  Mutter  der  Makkabaer,  written  at  Vienna  in  1819. 
The  tone  of  still,  but  deep  and  heartfelt  sadness,  which  runs 
through  the  whole  of  this  piece,  cannot  be  communicated  in 
extracts.  We  quote  only  a  half  stanza,  which,  except  in  prose, 
we  shall  not  venture  to  translate. 

<Ich,  dem  der  Liebe  Kosen, 
Und  alle  Frendenrosen, 
Beym  ersten  Schaufeltosen 
Am  Muttergrab  entflohn.' 

« I,  for  whom  the  caresses  of  love,  and  all  roses  of  joy  withered 
away,  as  the  first  shovel  with  its  mould  sounded  on  the  coffin  of 
my  mother.' 

"  The  date  of  her  decease  became  a  memorable  era  in  his 
mind,  as  may  appear  from  the  title  which  he  gave  long  after- 
wards to  one  of  his  most  popular  and  tragical  productions  —-Die 
mer-und-zwanzigste  Februar" 


MEMOIR    OF    MRS.  HBMANS.  127 

rent  of  sadness  might  always  be  traced,  was  almost 
more  melancholy  than  their  frequent  depression.  "  My 
spirits" — thus  she  wrote  of  herself — "  are  as  variable 
as  the  lights  and  shadows  now  flitting  with  the  wind 
over  the  high  grass,  and  sometimes  the  tears  gush 
into  my  eyes  when  I  can  scarcely  define  the  cause." 
And  in  another  letter  of  the  same  period — "  My  health 
is  quite  renewed,  and  my  spirits,  though  variable,  are 
often  all  that  they  used  to  be.  I  am  a  strange  being, 
I  think.  I  put  myself  in  mind  of  an  Irish  melody, 
sometimes,  with  its  quick  and  wild  transitions  from 
sadness  to  gaiety."  This  comparison  was  from  her  a 
very  expressive  one,  as  she  had  always  a  peculiar 
feeling  for  Irish  music.  "  There  breathes  through  it" 
(she  once  wrote,  and  would  often  say,)  "  or  perhaps  I 
imagine  all  this — a  mingling  of  exultation  and  despon- 
dence, like  funeral  strains  with  revelry,  a  something 
unconquerable,  yet  mournful,  which  interests  me 
deeply."  Even  yet  more  applicable  to  these  "  men- 
tal lights  and  shades"  are  the  similes  in  that  well- 
known  passage  from  the  works  of  Mrs.  Joanna  Baillie, 
which  she  loved  no  less  for  its  beauty,  than  from  feel- 
ing how  appropriately  it  might  have  been  written  for 
herself. 

"Didst  thou  ne'er  see  the  swallow's  veering1  breast, 
Winging  the  air  beneath  some  murky  cloud, 
In  the  sunn'd  glimpses  of  a  stormy  day, 
Shiver  in  silver  brightness? 
Or  boatman's  oar  as  vivid  lightning  flash 
In  the  faint  gleam,  that  like  a  spirit's  path 
Tracks  the  still  water  of  some  sullen  lake  1 
Or  lonely  tower,  from  its  brown  mass  of  woods, 
Give  to  the  parting  of  a  wintry  sun 


128  MEMOIR   OF    MRS.    HEMANS. 

One  hasty  glance,  in  mockery  of  the  night, 
Closing  in  darkness  round  it?    Gentle  friend! 
Chide  not  her  mirth  who  was  sad  yesterday, 
And  may  be  so  to-morrow."1 

A  few  original  fragments  found  after  Mrs.  Hemans's 
death  in  one  of  her  MS.  books,  may  here  be  given  as 
belonging  to  this  date. 

"  Oh,  that  we  could  but  fix  upon  one  eternal  and 
unchangeable  Being,  the  affections  which  here  we 
pour  forth,  a  wasted  treasure,  upon  the  dust!  But 
they  are  *  of  the  earth,  earthy ;'  they  cling  with  vain 
devotedness  to  mortal  idols ;  how  often  to  be  thrown 
back  upon  our  own  hearts,  and  to  press  them  down 
with  a  weight  of  '  voiceless  thoughts,'  and  of  feelings 
which  find  no  answer  in  the  world  I" 


"  Oh,  that  the  mind  could  throw  from  it  the  burthen 
of  the  past  for  ever  !  Why  is  it  that  voices  and  tones 
and  looks,  which  have  passed  away,  come  over  us 
with  a  suddenness  and  intenseness  of  remembrance 
which  make  the  heart  die  within  us,  and  the  eyes 
overflow  with  fruitless  tears  ?  Who  shall  explain  the 
mysteries  of  the  wprld  within  ?" 


"  'As  the  hart  panteth  for  the  water-brooks,'  or  as 
the  captive  for  the  free  air  of  Heaven,  so  does  the 
ardent  spirit  for  the  mingling  of  thought  with  thought, 
— for  the  full  and  deep  communion  of  kindred  natures. 
The  common,  every-day  intercourse  of  human  beings 
— how  poor  it  is — how  heartless  ! — how  much  more 

1  From  the  Tragedy  of  Orra. 


MEMOIR    OF    MRS.    HEMANS.  129 

does  it  oppress  the  mind  with  a  sense  of  loneliness, 
than  the  deepest  solitude  of  majestic  nature  !  Can  it 
indeed  be,  that  this  world  has  nothing  higher,  nobler, 
more  thrilling  ?  and  the  thousands  of  minds  that  seem 
to  dwell  contented  within  this  narrow  circle,  do  they 
dream  of  nothing  beyond?  I  often  ask  myself  this 
question  in  what  we  call  society,  and  what  should  be 
the  answering  thought?  *  I  thank  thee  that  I  am  not 
as  this  man  ;'  or,  <  Surely  this  man  is  happier  than  I!9 
Yet,  when  a  sudden  spark  of  congenial  thought  or 
feeling  seems  to  be  struck  from  the  mind  of  another 
by  our  own,  is  not  the  joy  so  great  as  almost  to  com- 
pensate for  hours  and  days  of  weariness  ?  Is  it  not 
like  the  swift  breaking  in  of  sunshine  through  the 
glades  of  a  forest,  sending  gladness  to  their  very 
depths  ?  Yes ; — but  *  few  and  far  between'  are  such 
moments ;  widely  severed  the  fresh  fountains  at  which 
we  drink  strength  and  hope,  to  bear  us  on  through 
the  desert  beyond." 

"  How  the  name  of  love  is  profaned  in  this  world ! 
Truly  does  Lord  Byron  call  '  circumstance'  an  '  unspi- 
ritual  God.'  What  strange  coarse  ties, — coarse  but 
not  strong, — one  daily  sees  him  forming  ! — not  of  the 
"  silver  cords"  of  the  heart,  but  of  the  homely  house- 
wifely worsted  of  interest — convenience — economical 
consideration.  One  wonders  how  they  are  to  resist 
the  wear  and  tear  of  life,  or  how  those  whom  they 
link  together  are  to  be  held  side  by  side  through  sor- 
row, difficulty,  disappointment,  without  the-  strong 
affection  which  '  overcometh  all  things,'  and  ennobles 
all  things  —  even  the  humblest  offices  performed  in 


ISO  MEMOIR    OF    MRS.  HEMANS. 

attendance  at  the  sick-bed  of  one.  we  love.  What 
work,  what  sacrifice  is  there  which  a  deep,  true, 
powerful  feeling  cannot  dignify  ?" 


"  Is  not  the  propensity  of  ardent  and  affectionate 
natures  to  love  and  trust,  though  disappointed  again 
and  again,  as  a  perpetual  spring  in  the  heart,  ever 
throwing  out  fresh  buds  and  flowers,  though  but  to  be 
nipped  by  the  '  killing  frost  ?' — Far  better  thus,  than 
to  be  bound  in  the  lifelessness  of  winter." 


"  What  is  fame  to  a  heart  yearning  for  affection, 
and  finding  it  not  ?  Is  it  not  as  a  triumphal  crown  to 
the  brow  of  one  parched  with  fever,  and  asking  for 
one  fresh  healthful  draught  —  the  '  cup  of  cold 
water  V  " 


"  Is  it  real  affliction — ill  health — disappointment — 
or  the  '  craving  void  that  aches  within  the  breast'  for 
sympathies  which  perhaps  earth  does  not  afford — that 
weans  us  most  from  life  ? — I  think  the  latter.  If  wt 
could  only  lie  down  to  die  as  to  sleep,  how  few  would 
not  willingly  throw  off  what  Wordsworth  calls 

<  The  weight 

Of  all  this  unintelligible  world !' 

and  '  flee  awray,  and  be  at  rest.' " 


"  '  The  ancients  feared  death; — we,  thanks  to 
Christianity,  fear  only  dying  ;'  so  says  the  author  of 
the  Guesses  at  Truth,  and  surely  it  is  even  so.  I,  that 
have  seen  a  spirit  pass  away  in  sleep,  in  soft  and 
solemn  repose  that  almost  melted  into  death,  should 


MEMOIR    OF    MRS.  HEMANS.  131 

scarcely  fear  even  the  latter ;  and  yet,  the  very  still- 
ness of  such  a  parting  is  almost  too  awful  for  human 
nature  to  sustain.  It  seems  as  if  there  should  be  last 
words  of  love,  and  tears,  and  blessings,  when  the 
strong  ties  that  bound  soul  to  soul  are  broken  ; — but 
to  call  and  not  to  be  answered  by  the  voice  that  ever 
before  spoke  kindness  and  comfort ! — who  can  sound 
the  deep  gulf  of  separation  that  must  be  '  set  between,' 
when  that  moment  arrives  V' 


"  Our  home  ! — what  images  are  brought  before  us 
by  that  one  word  !  The  meeting  of  cordial  smiles, 
and  the  gathering  round  the  evening  hearth,  and  the 
interchange  of  thoughts  in  kindly  words,  and  the 
glance  of  eyes  to  which  our  hearts  lie  open  as  the 
day ; — there  is  the  true  '  City  of  Refuge  ;* — where  are 
we  to  turn  when  it  is  shut  from  us  or  changed  ?  Who 
ever  thought  his  home  could  change  I  And  yet  those 
calm,  and  deep,  and  still  delights,  over  which  the 
world  seems  to  have  no  breath  of  power,  they  too  are 
like  the  beautiful  summer  clouds,  tranquil  as  if  fixed 
to  sleep  for  ever  in  the  pure  azure  of  the  skies,  yet 
all  the  while  melting  from  us,  though  imperceptibly 
•  passing  away  !' ' 

#  ****** 

Innumerable  are  the  projects  contained  in  these 
MS.  volumes/ where  ideas  were  written  down  at  the 
moment  they  occurred,  to  be  worked  out  at  future 
leisure.  Sometimes  the  whole  outline  of  a  long  poem 
is  drawn  out ;  then  follows  a  list  of  subjects  for  lyrics ; 
or  some  suddenly  awakened  association,  or  newly  sug- 
gested simile  is  recorded  in  hasty  and  unstudied  phrase. 


132  MEMOIR    OF    MRS.  HEMANS. 

It  may  be  interesting  to  give  a  few  specimens  of  these 
memoranda.  The  following  was  the  plan  of  "  The 
Picture  Gallery,"  designed  to  be  a  connected  series  of 
poems,  of  which  the  only  one  ever  completed  was  that 
called  "  The  Lady  of  the  Castle." 

"A  young  Bride  leads  her  husband  through  the  cas- 
tle of  her  ancestors,  an  ancient  chateau  in  Provence 
or  Languedoc.  Her  favourite  haunt  is  the  Picture 
Gallery,  where  she  passes  hours  with  him  every  day, 
relating  to  him  the  stories  of  the  sons  and  daughters 
of  her  house.  These  tales  are  : — 

"  That  of  the  celebrated  Countess  of  Tripoli,  for 
whom  a  troubadour  died  of  love. 

"  Of  the  haughty  Lady  of  Montemar,  who  will  not 
weep  at  the  death  of  her  son,  but  falls  down  dead 
upon  his  bier. 

66  Of  a  youth  of  that  house,  who  dies  for  his  king, 
like  Herbert  de  St.  Clair.  He  had  been  brought  up 
with  a  young  king  as  his  friend  and  companion ; — they 
come  down  together  on  a  visit  to  the  father  of  the 
youth ;  the  castle  is  besieged  by  rebels,  and  the  youth 
receives  in  his  own  heart  an  arrow  aimed  at  that  of 
his  king.  The  king  laments  him  bitterly,  and  visiting 
his  tomb  many  years  after,  on  his  return  from  a  great 
victory,  weeps  over  it  like  a  child. 

"  Story  of  <  The  Lady  of  the  Castle.' 

"  Of  two  brothers,  who  are  represented  in  the  same 
picture.  After  living  together  in  the  greatest  har- 
mony, they  become  attached  to  the  same  lady,  who 
returns  the  affection  of  the  younger.  Their  marriage- 
day  is  fixed,  and  she,  after  apparently  languishing  in 
sickness  a  few  days  previously,  falls  dead  at  the  altar. 


MEMOIR    OF    MRS.  HEMANS.  133 

not  without  suspicions  of  poison,  which  attach  to  the 
elder  brother,  who  has  disappeared,  and  is  not  heard 
of  for  years.  The  younger,  in  despair,  retires  to  a 
Carthusian  monastery,  the  regulations  of  which  are 
most  severe.  Here,  after  several  years'  seclusion,  he 
finds  himself  dying,  and  implores  the  abbot,  if  ever 
the  brother  on  whom  so  dreadful  a  suspicion  has  fallen, 
should  visit  that  abode,  to  assure  him  that  he  had  died 
in  charity  with  him.  The  abbot,  moved  with  com- 
passion, introduces  his  brother,  who  had  been  some 
time  in  the  convent  unknown  to  him.  They  are  re- 
conciled— the  younger  dies. 

"  Of  a  beautiful  Saracen  female,  who  comes  to  the 
castle  as  the  bride  of  the  eldest  son,  by  whom  she  has 
been  brought  home  from  the  East.  Her  being  a 
Saracen,  though  converted,  causes  discord  between 
the  father  and  son ;  and  one  day,  during  the  absence 
of  the  latter,  she  throws  herself  at  the  old  man's  feet, 
with  her  infant  daughter,  and  entreats  him  to  dispose 
of  her  at  his  will,  and  send  her  back  to  her  own  land, 
so  that  she  may  no  longer  be  the  cause  of  dissension 
between  him  and  his  son.  This  softens  his  heart ;  he 
takes  her  to  his  bosom — blesses  her  as  his  daughter 
— is  tended  by  her  in  his  last  illness,  and  expires  in 
her  arms. 

"  Of  a  fair  girl,  who  watches  from  the  battlements 
the  combat  in  which  her  brother  is  engaged.  She 
sees  him  fall,  and  left  deserted  as  the  army  are  charg- 
ing onward.  She  rushes  down  to  his  assistance,  and 
is  killed  herself  whilst  binding  up  his  wounds. 

"  Of  Constance,  a  daughter  of  the  house,  who  being 
left  motherless  at  an  early  age,  devotes  herself  to  the 

VOL.  I. 12 


134  MEMOIR   OP   MRS.  HEMANS. 

care  of  her  infant  sisters,  and  refuses  to  marry,  though 
tenderly  attached  to  a  noble  youth,  worthy  of  her 
affection.  Her  lover  falls  in  a  distant  land,  and  after 
all  her  duties  are  fulfilled,  she  goes  on  a  pilgrimage 
to  his  grave,  returns,  and  closes  her  days  in  peace. 
She  possesses  a  gift  of  sacred  song,  and  the  young 
bride,  Azalais,  concludes  her  tales  with  an  evening 
hymn  of  Constance's.  She  then  bids  the  portraits  of 
her  ancestors  farewell,  as  the  day  is  come  on  which 
she  is  to  leave  the  dwelling  of  her  father  for  that  of 
her  husband." 


"  Plan  of  a  Poem  to  be  called  '  The  Death-led  of 

St.  Louis.9 

"  Encampment  of  St.  Louis  in  Carthage  under  pros- 
perous auspices.  The  Oriflamme.  The  plague,  which 
is  most  dreadful  when  all  nature  is  smiling,  attacks 
his  army.  Death  of  warriors  in  a  foreign  land  while 
the  troubadours  and  minstrels  are  singing  in  their 
distant  homes.  The  mysterious  power  of  Africa  in 
repelling  all  invaders — thousands  buried  beneath  the 
sands.  Marius — Scipio — Dido — Sophonisba — Wife 
of  Asdrubal — Cato.  Evocation  of  the  gods  of  Car- 
thage. Those  shores  had  still  another  and  a  nobler 
lesson  to  learn.  Morning  of  the  death  of  St.  Louis — 
tillness  of  the  camp — warlike  and  triumphant  sounds 
upon  the  sea  during  his  last  moments.  Address  to  the 
Mediterranean.  Disembarkation  of  Charles  of  Anjou. 
Bitter  feelings  occasioned  by  turning  from  the  bed  of 
death  to  the  duties  of  active  life.  Mournfulness  of 
the  victory  gained  over  the  infidels,  after  the  death 
of  St.  Louis.  Departure  of  the  Crusaders." 


MEMOIR    OF    MRS.  HEMANS.  135 

/ 

"  Fountain  superstitions. — Different  marvellous  pro- 
perties anciently  attributed  to  the  waters  of  fountains. 
Those  are  lovely  spots  of  earth  where  they  rise,  whe- 
ther amongst  the  laurel  groves  of  Greece,  or  the 
citrons  of  Italy.  It  is  no  marvel  if  man,  in  darker 
ages,  has  bestowed  a  presiding  genius  on  each  of 
them." 


"  A  Norwegian  Legend. — A  traveller  in  Norway, 
standing  amongst  some  Hunengraber  (ancient  northern 
tombs,)  and  gigantic  stone  altars,  is  told  the  legend 
of  the  scene.  That  during  a  time  of  great  public 
calamity,  the  Priests  of  Odin  had  declared  it  to  be 
necessary  for  the  king  of  the  country  to  offer  up  the 
treasure  he  most  valued.  They  had  accordingly  seiz- 
ed upon  his  son,  a  gallant  boy  of  eight  years  old.  He 
was  about  to  be  bound  upon  the  stone  of  sacrifice, 
when  his  mother,  a  Scandinavian  princess,  rushed  in, 
declaring  that  she  was  the  being  whom  the  king  loved 
best,  and  must  therefore  be  sacrificed  instead  of  her 
son.  The  King  having  darted  forward  to  drag  her 
away,  she  appealed  to  this  as  a  proof,  gave  her  son 
into  his  arms,  and  rushed  upon  the  sacrificial  knife  of 
the  Priests." 


"  A  traveller,  sleeping  on  the  banks  of  the  Oronoco, 
has  heard  the  mysterious  sounds  of  the  Laxas  de 
musica.1  He  wakens  his  Indian  guide,  who  congratu- 
lates him  on  having  heard  them,  and  tells  him  they 
are  the  voices  of  his  departed  friends  from  the  regions 

1  Rocks  which  are  said  to  emit  musical  tones  at  sunrise. 


136  MEMOIR    OF    MRS.  HEMANS. 

of  the  dead,  giving  him  assurance  that  they  are  happy, 
and  that  they  watch  over  him  :  that  he  need  not  now 
fear  the  paw  of  the  tiger,  nor  the  hite  of  the  serpent, 
for  he  is  thus  protected ;  but  far  happier  are  they 
who  so  guard  him." 

"  A  scene  of  surpassing  beauty  in  Switzerland,  with 
a  cottage,  inhabited  by  the  wife  of  a  chamois  hunter. 
Soliloquy  of  a  wanderer,  who  imagines  that  no  human 
passions  can  ever  have  disturbed  the  repose  of  that 
sublime  solitude.  The  chamois  hunter  is  brought  in 
dead." 

"The  maid  before  the  wizard's  glass — her  mind, 
wearied  with  the  excitement  of  its  scenes,  turns  in 
joy  to  the  green  fields  and  the  skies." 

"  On  leaving  a  church  full  of  sculpture,  and  coming 
into  the  open  air. — The  blessing  of  those  feelings 
which  withdraw  us  occasionally  from  thoughts  too 
high  and  awful." 

"THOUGHTS  AND  SIMILES. 

"Distance  —  to  be  dreaded  by  those  who  love,  as 
so  completely  dividing  the  current  of  their  thoughts 
and  sympathies.  One  may  be  revelling  at  a  banquet, 
whilst  the  other  lies  on  a  bed  of  pain, — one  walking 
at  evening  in  the  summer  woods,  whilst  the  other  is 
tossing  on  the  stormy  wave,  at  the  moment  of  ship- 
wreck." 


"  Our  search  into  the  futurity  of  the  grave,  after 
the  excitements  of  life,  compared  to  the  first  going 


MEMOIR    OF    MRS.  HEMANS.  137 

forth  into  the  darkness,  after  leaving  a  brilliant  hall, 
with  lights  and  music ;  but,  by  degrees,  we  become 
accustomed  to  the  obscurity;  star  after  star  looks 
through  it,  and  the  objects  begin  to  clear." 

"  Virtues  and  powers  concealed  in  the  mind,  com- 
pared to  the  landscapes  and  beautiful  forms  sometimes 
found  in  the  heart  of  a  block  of  marble." 


"  Ruins  of  a  magnificent  city  seen  under  the  waves, 
(as  those  of  Tyre  are  said  to  be),  like  the  traces  of 
man's  lofty  original,  obscured  and  faintly  discernible 
through  the  shadows  of  mortality." 

"  Water  thrown  upon  ancient  paintings  and  reviving 
their  forms  and  colours,  like  any  sound  or  circum- 
stance reviving  images  of  the  past." 


"  Strong  passions,  discernible  under  a  cold  exterior, 
like  the  working  of  water,  seen  under  a  crust  of  ice." 

Such  are  a  few  specimens,  selected  from  amongst 
hundreds  thus  recorded,  of  the  "  struggling  harmonies" 
which  filled  that  ever  peopled  and  ever  busy  imagina- 
tion. Various  as  are  these  themes  of  song,  it  will  be 
seen  how  completely  they  are  all  attuned  to  the  key- 
note of  her  own  woman's  heart;  —  affection — pure, 
holy,  self-sacrificing — ennobling  life,  surviving  death, 
and  sending  Back  "  a  token  and  a  tone"  even  from 
the  world  of  spirits.1 

1  Amongst  the  many  subjects  of  a  graver  cast  are  the  follow 
ing:  — 

A  Jewish  funeral  at  midnight  in  the  valley  of  Ajalon. 
12* 


138  MEMOIR    OF    MRS.  HEMANS. 

Mrs.  Hemans's  literary  correspondence  was  now 
continually  on  the  increase.  Scarcely  a  day  passed 
without  bringing  some  new  communication,  interesting 
either  from  its  own  originality,  or  from  the  distin- 
guished name  of  the  writer.  It  was  with  no  less 
truth  than  kindliness  that  Mrs.  Gran,t  of  Laggan  thus 
wrote  to  her : — "  Shenstone  complains  of  his  hard  fate, 
in  wasting  a  lonely  existence,  '  not  loved,  not  praised, 
not  known.'  How  very  different  is  your  case  I  Praised 
by  all  that  read  you, — loved  by  all  that  praise  you, — 
and  known,  in  some  degree,  wherever  our  language 
is  spoken." 

It  is  pleasing  to  dwell  upon  the  generous  apprecia- 

Maronite  procession  round  the  Cedars  of  Lebanon. 

These  "  Cedar  Saints"  had  always  a  great  hold  upon  her  ima- 
gination, and  she  eagerly  sought  out  all  the  descriptions  of  them 
given  by  Eastern  travellers.  How  truly  after  her  own  heart, 
would  have  been  the  reverential  spirit  and  poetic  feeling  with 
which  the  sublime  scenery  of  Lebanon  has  been  described  by 
Lord  Lindsay,  whose  graphic  touches, — "  the  stately  bearing  and 
graceful  repose  of  the  young  cedars,"  contrasted  with  "  the  wild 
aspect  and  frantic  attitude  of  the  old  ones,  flinging  abroad  their 
knotted  and  muscular  limbs  like  so  many  Laocoons," 1  bring  the 
impressive  scene  so  completely  before  the  mind's  eye !  And  how 
she  would  at  once  have  transferred  to  some  one  of  her  "  Books 
of  Gems,"  that  lovely  picture,  which  haunts  one  like  a  dream, — 
the  "  view  of  the  Red  Sea  from  the  plain  where  the  children  of 
Israel  encamped  after  leaving  Elim ;"  and  where  the  rocks,  "  now 
so  silent,  must  have  re-echoed  the  song  of  Moses,  and  its  ever 
returning  chorus, — '  Sing  ye  to  the  Lord,  for  he  hath  triumphed 
gloriously;  the  horse  and  his  rider  hath  he  thrown  into  the 
sea!1"2 

J  Lord  Lindsay's  Letters,  Vol.  I.  p.  212.  £  Idem,  Vol.  I.  p.  315. 


MEMOIR    OF    MRS.    HEMANS.  139 

tion  with  which  she  was  regarded  by  the  gifted  of  her 
own  sex,  and  the  frank,  confiding  spirit  which  always 
marked  her  intercourse  with  them.  She  would  rejoice 
in  their  success  with  true  sisterly  disinterestedness ; 
and  the  versatility  of  her  tastes,  to  which  every  thing 
really  good  in  its  kind  was  sure  to  be  acceptable 
(always  excepting  science  and  statistics,  from  which 
she  stood  aloof  in  silent  awe),  gave  her  a  capacity  for 
enjoying  with  equal  zest,  the  noble  simplicity  of  Mrs. 
Joanna  Baillie,  the  graphic  reality  of  Miss  Mitford, 
the  true-hearted  originality  of  Mary  Howitt,  or  the 
exquisite  tenderness  of  Miss  Bowles.  The  Sunday 
Evening  of  the  latter  —  that  pure  and  pious  little 
poem,  which,  in  its  own  sweet  language, 
"Falls  on  the  heart  like  dew 
On  the  drooping  heather-bell," 

was  first  introduced  to  Mrs.  Hemans  through  a 
strangely  circuitous  medium,  having  been  sent  to  her 
from  Canada  by  her  brother,  in  a  Montreal  gazette. 
Long  before  they  knew  even  the  name  of  its  author, 
it  had  gained  for  itself  the  love  and  favour  of  the 
whole  household.  It  was  copied  by  the  elders,  learnt 
by  the  children,  and  is  now  consecrated  by  recollec- 
tions far  dearer  than  belong  to  the  finest  monuments 
of  genius;  and  which  involuntarily  excite  a  feeling 
of  affectionate  intimacy  with  the  writer.  Miss  Bowles's 
Solitary  Hours  were  often  made  by  Mrs.  Hemans  the 
companions  of  her  own ;  and  had  she  lived  to  read 
The  Birthday,  its  simple  pathos  and  deep  tenderness 
would  have  awakened  many  an  answering  tone  in  her 
heart. 

The  letter  in  which  she  introduced  herself  to  Miss 


140  MEMOIR    OF    MRS.    HEMANS. 

Mitford,  describes  what  she  would  have  expressed  to 
others  even  yet  more  warmly — the  thorough  relish 
with  which  she  enjoyed  the  unrivalled  powers  of 
description  and  fine  old  English  feelings  of  that  delight- 
ful writer,  who  Is  as  completely  identified  with  "  the 
greenwood  tree,"  and  all  the  fresh,  free  thoughts 
belonging  to  it,  as  Robin  Hood  himself. 

"Rhyllon,  St.Asaph,  June  6th,  1827. 
"  MADAM, 

"  I  can  hardly  feel  that  I  am  addressing  an  entire 
stranger  in  the  author  of  Our  Village?  and  yet  I  know 
it  is  right  and  proper  that  I  should  apologize  for  the 
liberty  I  am  taking.  But  really,  after  having  accom- 
panied you  again  and  again,  as  I  have  done,  in  '  vio- 
letting'  and  seeking  for  wood-sorrel;  after  having  been 
with  you  to  call  upon  Mrs.  Allen  in  '  the  dell,'  and 
becoming  thoroughly  acquainted  with  May  and  Lizzy, 
I  cannot  but  "hope  that  you  will  kindly  pardon  my 
intrusion,  and  that  my  name  may  be  sufficiently  known 
to  you  to  plead  my  cause.  There  are  some  writers 
whose  works  we  cannot  read  without  feeling  as  if  we 
really  had  looked  with  them  upon  the  scenes  they 
bring  before  us,  and  as  if  such  communion  had  almost 
given  us  a  claim  to  something  more  than  the  mere 
intercourse  between  author  and  'gentle  reader.'  Will 
you  allow  me  to  say  that  your  writings  have  this  effect 
upon  me,  and  that  you  have  taught  me,  in  making 
me  know  and  love  your  Village  so  well,  to  wish  for 
further  knowledge,  also,  of  her  who  has  so  vividly 
impressed  its  dingles  and  coppices  upon  my  imagina- 
tion, and  peopled  them  so  cheerily  with  healthful  and 


MEMOIR    OP    MRS.  HEMANS.  141 

happy  beings?  I  believe,  if  I  could  be  personally 
introduced  to  you,  that  I  should,  in  less  than  five  min- 
utes, begin  to  enquire  about  Lucy  and  the  lilies  of  the 
valley,  and  whether  you  had  succeeded  in  peopling 
that  shady  border  in  your  own  territories  *  with  those 
shy  flowers.'  My  boys,  the  constant  companion  of  my 
walks  about  our  village,  and  along  our  two  pretty 
rivers,  the  Elwy  and  Clwyd,  are  not  less  interested  in 
your  gipsies  young  and  old,  your  heroes  of  the  cricket- 
ground,  and,  above  all — Jack  Hatch! — woeful  and 
amazed  did  they  all  look,  when  it  was  found  that  Jack 
Hatch  could  die  !  But  I  really  must  come  to  the  aim 
and  object  of  this  letter,  which  I  fear  you  may  almost 
begin  to  look  upon  as  *  prose  run  mad.'  I  dare  say 
you  laugh  sometimes,  as  I  am  inclined  to  do  myself,  at 
the  prevailing  mania  for  autographs :  but  a  very  kind 
friend  of  mine  in  a  distant  country  does  no  such  thing, 
and  I  am  making  a  collection  for  him,  which  I  should 
think  (and  he  too,  I  am  sure)  very  much  enriched  by 
your  name.  If  you  do  me  the  favour  to  comply  with 
this  request,  it  will  give  me  great  pleasure  to  hear 
from  you,  under  cover  to  the  Bishop  of  St.  Asaph. — 
With  sincere  esteem,  I  beg  you  to  believe  me,  Madam, 
your  faithful  servant, 

"FELICIA  HEMANS." 

This  application  was  answered  by  Miss  Mitford  in 
just  the  kind  and  cordial  tone  which  might  have  been 
expected  from  her ;  and  Mrs.  Hemans  had  the  pleasure 
of  transmitting  to  Mr.  Norton,  the  friend  for  whom 
she  was  making  the  collection  of  autographs,  "  that 
pretty  and  joyous  song"  (as  she  called  it  in  her  letter 


142  MEMOIR    OF    MRS.  HEMANS. 

of  acknowledgment),  "  The  Welcome  Home,"  in  Miss 
Mitford's  own  hand-writing.  "  Your  autograph,"  she 
wrote  some  months  later,  "  which  1  transmitted  to  my 
American  friends,  was  very  gratefully  received,  and  is 
enshrined  in  a  book  amidst  I  know  not  how  many 
other  '  bright  names :'  for  aught  I  know,  Washington 
himself  may  be  there,  side  by  side  with  you ;  and  not 
improbably  is,  for  they  are  going  to  send  me  an  origi- 
nal letter  of  his,  which  I  shall  prize  much." 

Several  years  after,  when  this  song  was  published 
in  the  fifth  volume  of  Our  Village,  the  following  note 
was  appended  to  it  by  the  warm-hearted  writer.  "  I 
have  a  kindness  for  this  little  song  quite  unconnected 
with  any  merit  of  its  own — if  merit  it  have — since  it 
formed  one  of  the  earliest  links  in  my  correspondence 
with  the  richly  gifted  poetess,  the  admirable  and 
delightful  woman,  Mrs.  Hemans.  She  will  remember 
the  circumstance.  Our  correspondence  has  sometimes 
languished  since,  but  the  friendship  that  sprang  from 
it  I  humbly  hope  can  never  alter." 

The  correspondence  had  indeed  "  languished,"  with 
many  others  not  less  valued  ;  for  by  that  time  (1833) 
the  delicacy  of  Mrs.  Hemans's  health  had  obliged  her 
in  a  great  measure  to  give  up  letter  writing,  her 
reclining  posture  making  it  necessary  to  adopt  the  use 
of  the  pencil  instead  of  the  pen.  But  the  warmth  of 
her  feelings  towards  those  she  loved  and  admired  con- 
tinued undiminished,  and  when  this  affectionate  little 
notice  was  unexpectedly  brought  before  her,  she 
described  herself  as  having  been  moved  almost  to 
tears  by  the  genuine  cordiality  of  its  tone,  while  it 
gladdened  her  heart  like  a  sudden  meeting  with  a 


MEMOIR    OF    MRS.  HEMANS.  143 

friend.  It  was  one  of  her  many  projects  at  that 
period  to  write  a  volume  of  prose  sketches — Recollec- 
tions of  a  Poet's  Childhood,  and  descriptions  of  scenes 
which  had  most  interested  and  struck  her  in  after 
years — and  this  she  intended  to  dedicate  to  Miss  Mit- 
ford.1 

But  this  is  anticipating.  To  return  to  the  year 
1827,  and  to  a  letter  to  Mrs.  Joanna  Baillie,  in  which 
she  writes — "  You  say,  my  dear  madam,  that  you 
wish  you  had  something  to  send  me.  May  I,  thus 
emboldened,  ask  you  for  something  which  I  have  long 
wished  to  possess,  but  have  not  been  able  to  procure, 
as  I  believe  it  is  at  present  out  of  print, — your  de- 
lightful little  drama  of  The  Beacon? — or  perhaps 
you  can  guide  me  as  to  where  I  may  meet  with  it.  I 
have  an  edition  of  your  works,  containing  the  Plays 

1  That  little  song,  with  its  name  of  happy  omen,  "  The  Wel- 
come Home,"  does  not  cease  to  be  identified  with  the  pleasantest 
recollections.  Mr.  Norton  will  forgive  the  liberty  that  is  taken 
in  making  the  following  extract  from  one  of  his  letters,  for  the 
sake  of  showing  how  such  remembrances  are  cherished  in  a  far- 
distant  land.  "  Most  of  my  autographs  have  a  peculiar  value  to 
me  from  their  associations  with  the  donors  as  well  as  the  writers ; 
and  as  I  shall  record  the  names  of  the  former  in  the  volume  (the 
first)  which  I  am  just  about  completing,  it  will  be  to  me  a  book 
full  of  deeply  interesting  recollections.  I  have  a  particular  value 
for  some  pieces  in  my  collection,  but  for  none  more  than  a  song 
sent  by  Miss  Mjtford  to  Mrs.  Hemans,  and  given  by  the  latter  to 
me,  which  Miss  Mitford  mentions  in  the  last  volume  of  Our  Vil- 
lage in  a  manner  to  make  it  an  object  of  curiosity  and  feeling  as 
long  as  Our  Village  or  Mrs.  Hemans's  poetry  is  read ;  that  is,  as 
long  as  English  literature  exists." — Cambridge,  N.  E.  24th  May, 
1835. 


144  MEMOIR    OF    MRS.  HEMANS. 

on  the  Passions  (with  the  exception  of  Orra),  Ethwald, 
Rayner,  and  Constantine,  and  I  have  The  Family 
Legend  separate;  but  The  Beacon  I  have  not  met 
with  since  I  read  it  almost  in  childhood,  and  made 
some  extracts  from  it  which  would  amuse  you  if  you 
could  see  them  in  the  school-girl  hand  of  fourteen  or 
fifteen.  That  heart-cheering  song, 

*  The  absent  will  return — the  long,  long  lost  be  found,' 

I  remember  being  more  especially  pleased  with — it 
breathes  such  a  spirit  of  hope  and  joy ;  and  I  am  by 
nature  inclined  to  both,  though  early  cares  have 
chastened  and  subdued  a  mind,  perhaps  but  too  ardent 
originally. 

"  I  have  another  favour  to  request ;  it  is  the  per- 
mission to  dedicate  to  you,  of  whom  my  whole  sex 
may  be  proud,  a  work  which  I  shall  probably  publish 
in  the  course  of  this  present  year,  and  which  is  to  be 
called  Records  of  Woman.  If  you  do  not  object  to 
this,  I  will  promise  that  the  inscription  shall  be  as 
simple  as  you  could  desire. 

"  My  children  were  much  pleased  by  your  kind 
mention  of  them ;  the  one  who  had  been  reading 
Ethwald  with  such  interest,  was  not  a  little  amused 
to  find  himself  designated  as  a  girl :  I  have  none  but 
boys,  a  circumstance  I  often  am  inclined  to  regret ; 
for  I  married  so  young  that  they  are  even  now  be- 
ginning to  spring  from  childhood  into  youth  them- 
selves, and,  in  the  course  of  a  few  years  I  must  expect 
that  they  will  long  for,  and  be  launched  into,  another 
world  than  the  green  fields  in  which  they  are  now 
contented  to  play  around  me.  Let  me,  however,  be 


MEMOIR    OF    MRS.    HEMANS.  145 

thankful  for  the  happiness  I  at  present  enjoy,  and  for 
the  privilege  which  peculiar  circumstances  have 
afforded  me,  and  which  is  granted  to  so  few  mothers, 
of  being  able  myself  to  superintend  their  education, 
and  give  what  I  hope  will  be  enduring  impressions  to 
their  minds.  Now  that  I  am  upon  this  subject,  dear 
madam,  I  am  strongly  tempted  to  relate  a  little  anec- 
dote which  I  think  will  interest  you — (mammas  are 
always  prone  to  believe  their  children  must  be  inter- 
esting) — of  one  of  them  at  eleven  years  old.  I  had 
been  reading  to  him  Lord  Byron's  magnificent  address 
to  the  sea — 

'Roll  on,  thou  deep  and  dark-blue  ocean, — roll!' 

He  listened  in  almost  breathless  attention,  and  ex- 
claimed, the  moment  I  had  finished  it — 'It  is  very 
grand  indeed! — but  how  much  finer  it  would  have 
been,  mamma,  if  he  had  said  at  the  close,  that  God 
had  measured  out  all  those  waters  with  the  hollow 
of  his  hand !'  I  could  not  help  being  struck  with 
the  true  wisdom  thus  embodied  in  the  simplicity  of 
childhood." 

The  same  remark  may  be  applied  to  an  anecdote 
related  in  a  letter  to  another  friend,  about  this  time. 
"  Charles"  (then  eight  years  old)  "  is  sitting  by  me, 
reading  Warton's  Death-bed  Scenes,  with  which  he  is 
greatly  delighjfced.  One  of  the  stories  is  called  <  The 
Atheist,'  and  on  my  explaining  to  him  what  the  word 
meant,  which  he  did  not  know,  he  exclaimed,  with 
the  greatest  astonishment — "  Not  believe  in  a  God, 
mamma !  — Who  does  he  expect  made  the  world  and 
his  own  body?'  " 

VOL.  I. 13 


146  MEMOIR    OP    MRS.  HEMANS. 

These  little  traits  call  to  mind  the  concluding  verse 
of  Wordsworth's  "  Anecdote  for  Fathers ;" — 

"O  dearest,  dearest  boy!  my  heart 

For  better  lore  would  seldom  yearn, 
Could  I  but  teach  the  hundredth  part 
Of  what  from  thee  I  learn." 

In  the  autumn  of  1827,  at  the  urgent  request  of 
Mr.  Alaric  Watts,  who  was  then  forming  a  gallery 
of  portraits  of  the  living  authors  of  Great  Britain, 
Mrs.  Hemans  was  prevailed  upon  to  sit  for  her  pic- 
ture. The  artist  selected  on  this  occasion  was  Mr. 
W.  E.  West,  an  American  by  hirth,  who  had  passed 
some  time  in  Italy,  and  painted  the  last  likeness  ever 
taken  of  Lord  Byron,  and  also  one  of  Madame  Guic- 
cioli,  which  was  engraved  in  one  of  the  annuals. 
During  his  stay  at  Rhyllon,  where  he  remained  for 
some  weeks,  he  finished  three  several  portraits  of 
Mrs.  Hemans;  one  for  Mr.  Alaric  Watts,  one  which 
is  now  in  the  possession  of  Professor  Norton,  and  a 
third,  which  he  most  courteously  presented  to  Mrs. 
Hemans's  sister,  to  whom  it  was  even  then  a  treasure, 
and  is  now  become  one  of  inestimable  value.  This 
likeness,  considered  by  her  family  as  the  best  ever 
taken  of  her,  is  the  one  which  suggested  Mrs.  He- 
mans's affecting  lines,  "  To  my  own  portrait."  The 
first-named  of  these  pictures  has  now,  it  is  understood, 
passed  into  the  hands  of  Mr.  Fisher,  the  proprietor  of 
The  Drawing-room  Scrap-Book.  Engravings  from  it 
have  appeared  in  that  work  and  in  The  Christian  Keep- 
sake ;  but  they  are  any  thing  but  satisfactory ;  and 
give  the  idea  of  a  sallowness  of  complexion  and  stern- 


MEMOIR    OF    MRS.  HEMANS.  147 

ness  of  countenance,  as  different  from  the  original  as 
possible.  It  is,  however,  only  fair  to  repeat  the  re- 
mark already  made,  and  in  which  all  those  who  were 
accustomed  to  study  the  play  of  her  features  must 
concur — that  there  never  was  a  countenance  more 
difficult  to  transfer  to  canvas;  so  varying  were  its 
expressions,  and  so  impossible  is  it  to  be  satisfied  with 
the  one  which  can  alone  be  perpetuated  by  the  artist. 
The  great  charm  of  Mr.  West's  picture  is  its  perfect 
freedom  from  any  thing  set  or  constrained  in  the  air  ; 
and  the  sweet,  serious  expression,  so  accordant  with 
her  maternal  character,  which  recalls  her  own  lines, — 

"  Mother !  with  thine  earnest  eye 
Ever  following  silently,"1 

and  which  made  one  of  her  children  remark,  in  glan- 
cing from  it  to  the  bust,  executed  some  years  after  by 
Mr.  Angus  Fletcher,  "  The  bust  is  the  poetess,  but  the 
picture  is  all  mother" 

Even  yet  more  difficult  than  to  depict  the  anima- 
tion of  her  countenance,  would  it  be  to  give  any  ade- 
quate idea  of  the  brilliant  versatility  of  her  conversa- 
tion ;  its  delicate  wit,  its  engaging  playfulness,  and 
that  perpetual  flow  of  allusion  and  illustration,  which 
proved  her  possession  of  inexhaustible  stores  of  know- 
ledge, far  more  general  than  her  writings,  from  the 
individuality  of  their  character,  ever  brought  into 
evidence.  Many  people,  who  had  prepared  them- 
selves to  see  in  the  author  of  The  Sceptic,  and  The 
Forest  Sanctuary,  a  "  potent,  grave,  and  reverend" 

1  From  The  Hour  of  Prayer. 


148  MEMOIR    OF    MRS.  HEMANS. 

personage,  whom  it  would  be  necessary  to  approach 
with  a  solemn  air,  and  a  formal  complimentary  ad- 
dress, were  as  much  astonished  by  her  frankness  and 
vivacity,  as  by  her  thorough  freedom  from  preten- 
sion, and  everything  approaching  to  the  technicalities 
of  a  "  learned  lady."  All  these  she  held  as  much  in 
detestation  as  she  did  the  duty  compliments  and  con- 
ventional homage  of  those  by  whom  every  intellec- 
tual woman  is  indiscriminately  treated  as  a  bas  bleu, 
and  saluted  in  some  such  strain  of  hyperbole  as  used 
to  prevail  in  the  Delia  Cruscan  coteries  of  Hayley 
and  Miss  Seward ;  whilst  no  one  could  be  more  alive 
to  the  delight  of  being  really  understood  and  appre- 
ciated, or  of  knowing  that  anything  she  had  written 
had  found  its  way  into  the  depths  of  any  kind,  and 
true,  and  loving  heart. 

She  had  that  quick  sense  of  the  ludicrous,  which  is 
the  frequent  concomitant  of  an  intense  perception  of 
the  beautiful,  and  few  could  have  wielded  the  shafts 
of  ridicule  more  effectually ;  yet  it  has  been  truly 
said,  that  "  no  sharp  or  scornful  speech  is  on  record 
against  her."  Sarcasm  she  deprecated  as  unwomanly 
and  unamiable ;  personalities  were  ever  distasteful  to 
her,  and,  from  the  sensitiveness  of  her  own  nature, 
she  instinctively  learned  a  "  thoughtful  tenderness"  for 
others.  Sincerity,  in  however  grotesque  a  guise, 
always  insured  her  respect ;  and  its  contrary,  though 
clothed  in  "paroles  d'or  et  de  sole"  was,  of  all  others, 
the  thing  of  which  she  was  most  intolerant.  The 
blended  loftiness  and  simplicity  of  her  nature — a  union 
so  little  to  be  understood  by  the  commonplace  and  the 
worldly — exposed  her  to  perpetual  misconstructions. 


MEMOIR    OF    MRS.  HEMANS*  149 

None  but  her  most  intimate  friends  could  fully  appre- 
ciate her  varied  powers,  and  frank,  deep  affections. 
Amongst  those  chosen  few,  her  endearing  guilelessness 
— her  uncomplaining  sorrows — her  susceptibility  to 
kindness,  on  which  her  peculiar  position  made  her 
lean  so  trustingly — her  high  aspirations  and  gentle 
charities — her  very  self-forget  fulness,  which  seemed 
to  require  the  presence  of  some  ever  watchful  and 
tenderly  ministering  spirit  —  all  these  awakened  a 
mingled  feeling  of  admiration,  honour,  anxiety,  and 
protecting  care,  which  amounted  j:o  ajbsolute  enthu- 
siasm. In  this  spirit,  one  who  knew  her  long  and  well, 
wrote  of  her,  with  an  honest  warmth  at  which  few 
could  have  the  heart  to  cavil. — "  Nothing  but  igno- 
rance or  ill-nature  could  point  out  a  marring  trait  in 
a  woman's  nature,  in  which  there  were  no  faults  that 
were  not  better  in  themselves,  and  more  engaging, 
than  the  virtues  or  merits,  whatever  people  choose  to 
call  them,  of  most  others."  When  amongst  those  she 
loved  and  trusted  (and  with  her,  indeed,  these  terms 
were  synonymous),  she  would  give  herself  up,  with 
childlike  abandon,  to  the  mood  of  the  moment,  what- 
ever it  might  be.  Her  first  impulse  was  to  impart  to 
her  friends  whatever  had  delighted  or  amused  herself; 
and  in  this  way,  she  would  good-humouredly  enjoy 
with  them  the  strange  proofs  of  celebrity — the  whim- 
sical tributes,  the  adulatory  letters,  the  overstrained 
compliments,  which  were  showering  down  upon  her 
daily.  Yet  nothing  would  have  distressed  her  more 
than  the  idea  of  any  of  these  communications  ever 
being  held  up  to  public  ridicule — nothing  could  be 
more  repugnant  to  her  feelings  than  to  give  pain  to 
13* 


150  MEMOIR    OP    MRS.    REMANS. 

any  one  who  had  wished  to  give  her  pleasure,  or  to 
incur  the  charge  of  requiting  with  ingratitude  any- 
thing meant  in  kindness. 

During  the  winter  of  1827,  her  health  was  very 
variable,  and  the  inflammatory  attacks  to  which  she 
was  always  subject,  were  unfortunately  increased  both 
in  frequency  and  violence,  by  her  personal  careless- 
ness, which  no  warnings  or  entreaties  could  control, 
and  by  her  unconquerable  dislike  to  the  adoption  of 
the  necessary  remedies,  and  the  being  laid  up  as  an 
acknowledged  invalid.  This  made  her  unwilling  to 
confess  what  she  suffered,  as  long  as  it  was  possible  to 
bear  on  in  silence.  "  Entre  nous,"  she  wrote  to  a 
friend,  "  my  chest  and  side  have  begun  to  burn  again 
fiercely.  I  have  not  yet  mentioned  the  recurrence  of 
this  pain  at  home,  because  they  would  make  me  put 
blisters  on,  and  I  am  in  hopes,  if  I  keep  quiet,  that  I 
shall  get  rid  of  it  without  such  abominations." 

####*#* 

"  Do  not  be  uneasy  about  this  fiery  pain  of  mine ; 
I  am  told  that  it  is  not  from  the  lungs,  but  only  nervous, 
and  in  this  opinion  I  am  inclined  to  agree,  because  it 
generally  attacks  me  after  I  have  been  thinking 
intently,  or  after  any  agitation  of  mind." 

All  this  time,  her  imagination  was  at  work  more 
busily  than  ever;  new  thoughts  and  fresh  fancies 
seemed  to  spring  up  "as  willows  by  the  water-courses," 
and  the  facility  with  which  her  lyrics  were  poured 
forth,  approached,  in  many  instances,  to  actual  impro- 
visation. When  confined  to  her  bed,  and  unable  to 
use  a  pen,  she  would  often  employ  the  services  of 
those  about  her,  to  write  down  what  she  had  com 


MEMOIR    OF    MRS.  HEMANS.  151 

posed.  "  Felicia  has  just  sent  for  me,"  wrote  her 
amanuensis  on  one  of  these  occasions,  "  with  pencil 
and  paper,  to  put  down  a  little  song,1  which,  she  said, 
had  come  to  her  like  a  strain  of  music,  whilst  lying  in 
the  twilight  under  the  infliction  of  a  blister ;  and  as  I 
really  think,  '  a  scrap'  (as  our  late  eccentric  visiter 
would  call  it)  composed  under  such  circumstances,  is, 
to  use  the  words  of  Coleridge,  a  '  psychological  curio- 
sity,' I  cannot  resist  copying  it  for  you.  It  was  sug- 
gested by  a  story  she  somewhere  read  lately,  of  a 
Greek  islander,  carried  off  to  the  Vale  of  Tempe,  and 
pining  amidst  all  its  beauties,  for  the  sight  and  sound 
of  his  native  sea." 

One  of  the  pieces  of  this  date  is  thus  mentioned  by 
herself.  "I  am  so  glad  you  liked  'Fairy  Favours.' 
It  is,  indeed,  filled  with  my  own  true  and  ever  yearn- 
ing feeling ;  that  longing  for  more  affection,  more  con- 
fidence, more  entire  interchange  of  thought,  than  I 
am  ever  likely  to  meet  with.  However,  I  will  not 
repine,  whilst  I  have  friends  who  love  me  as  you  do." 

To  Mrs.  Joanna  Baillie,  she  wrote,  "  with  the  return 
of  the  violet," — "  It  seems  very  long  since  I  have  had 
any  communication  with  you ;  but  this  privation  has 
been  my  own  fault,  or  rather  my  misfortune ;  for  a 
good  deal  of  illness  during  the  winter  compelled  me  to 
give  up  all  other  occupation,  for  that  particularly 
uninteresting  one — taking  care  of  myself,  or  rather 
allowing  others  to  take  care  of  me.  I  know  not  how 
it  is,  but  I  always  feel  so  ashamed  of  the  apparent 
egotism  and  selfishness  attendant  on  indisposition — 

l"  Where  is  the  Seal" 


152  MEMOIR    OF    MRS.  HEMANS. 

the  muffling  one's  self  up,  taking  the  warmest  place, 
shrinking  from  the  mirthful  noises  of  those  who  are  in 
full  health,  &c.  &c.,  that  I  believe  I  am  apt  to  fall 
into  the  contrary  extreme,  and  so,  in  the  end,  to  occa- 
sion ten  times  more  trouble  than  I  should  have  done 
with  a  little  proper  submission.  But  a  truce  to  the 
remembrances  of  indisposition,  now  that  the  Spring  is 
really  come  forth  with  all  her  singing-birds  and  violets. 
It  seems  as  if  sadness  had  no  right  to  a  place  amongst 
the  bright  and  fair  things  of  the  season. 

"  Dr.  Channing  has  lately  published  a  very  noble 
essay  on  the  character  of  Napoleon,  occasioned  by 
Sir  Walter  Scott's  Life  of  that  dazzling  but  most 
unheroic  personage.  I  wish  you  may  meet  with  it ;  I 
am  sure  that  the  lofty  thoughts  embodied  by  its  writer, 
in  his  own  fervid  eloquence,  could  not  fail  to  delight 
you ;  and  his  high  views  of  moral  beauty  are  really 
freshening  to  the  heart,  which  longs  to  pour  itself 
forth  in  love  and  admiration,  and  finds  so  little  in  the 
everv-day  world  whereon  such  feelings  may  repose. 

"  The  little  volume,  Records  of  Woman,  which  you 
kindly  gave  me  permission  to  inscribe  to  you,  is  now 
in  the  press,  and  I  hope  I  shall  soon  be  able  to  send 
you  a  copy ;  and  that  the  dedication,  which  is  in  the 
simplest  form,  will  be  honoured  by  your  approval. 
Mr.  Blackwood  is  its  publisher." 

Mrs.  Hemans  always  spoke  with  pleasure  of  her 
literary  intercourse  with  Mr.  Blackwood,  in  whose 
dealings  she  recognised  all  that  uprightness  and  liber- 
ality which  belonged  to  the  sterling  worth  of  his  cha- 
racter. The  Records  of  Woman,  the  first  of  her 
works  published  by  him,  was  brought  out  in  May, 


MEMOIR    OF    MRS.  HEMANS.  153 

1828.  This  volume  was,  to  use  the  words  of  its 
author,  the  one  in  which  "  she  had  put  her  heart  and 
individual  feelings  more  than  in  anything  else  she  had 
written ;"  and  it  is  also,  and  perhaps  consequently,  the 
one  which  has  held  its  ground  the  most  steadily  in 
public  favour. 

The  following  extract  is  from  a  letter  of  this  date, 
to  Mrs.  Howitt,  who  had  lately  had  to  mourn  the  loss 
of  one  of  her  children : — 

"  I  can  feel  deeply  for  the  sorrow  you  communicate 
to  me ;  it  is  one  which  Heaven  has  yet  graciously 
spared  me ;  but  the  imagination  within  us  is  a  fearful 
and  mysterious  power,  and  has  often  brought  all  the 
sufferings  of  that  particular  bereavement  before  me, 
with  a  vividness  from  which  I  have  shrunk  almost  in 
foreboding  terror.  And  I  have  felt,  too  (though  not 
through  the  breaking  of  that  tie,)  those  sick  and 
weary  yearnings  for  the  dead,  that  feverish  thirst  for 
the  sound  of  a  departed  voice  or  step,  in  which  the 
heart  seems  to  die  away,  and  literally  to  become  '  a 
fountain  of  tears.'  Who  can  sound  its  depths  ? — One 
alone,  and  may  He  comfort  you  ! 

"  When  you  write  to  Mr.  Bernard  Barton,  with 
whom,  most  probably,  you  are  in  frequent  communi- 
cation, will  you  mention,  with  my  kind  regards,  that 
many  months  of  languishing  health  have  caused  the 
interruption  in  my  correspondence  with  him,  but  that 
I  am  now  reviving,  and  hope  shortly  to  resume  it.  I 
sent  a  copy  of  your  delightful  little  volume,  The  Deso- 
lation of  Eyam,  a  short  time  since,  to  some  very  intel- 
ligent friends,  whom  I  am  fortunate  enough  to  possess 


154  MEMOIR    OF    MRS.  HEMANS. 

in  America ;  they  will,  I  know,  be  able  to  appreciate 
all  its  feeling  and  beauty." 

Early  in  the  summer  of  this  year,  Mrs.  Hemans 
accomplished  a  long-projected  visit  to  her  old  friends 
at  Wavertree  Lodge,  under  whose  hospitable  roof, 
and  more  than  affectionate  care,  she  remained  for 
several  weeks.  The  state  of  her  health  appeared  to 
them  so  serious,  that  she  was  at  last  persuaded  to 
resign  herself  to  medical  discipline ;  and  amongst 
many  other  precautionary  measures,  the  almost  entire 
adoption  of  a  reclining  posture  was  prescribed  to  her. 
One  of  her  objects  in  this  visit,  besides  the  pleasure  of 
being  once  more  in  the  society  of  those  she  valued  so 
truly,  was,  to  make  the  necessary  arrangements  for 
engaging  a  residence  in  that  neighbourhood,  to  which 
she  was  inclined  to  remove,  on  the  approaching  dis- 
persion of  the  family  circle  at  Rhyllon,  occasioned  by 
the  marriage  of  her  sister,  and  the  appointment  of  her 
second  brother  to  an  official  situation  in  Ireland.  The 
possession  of  such  attached  friends  in  that  vicinity 
(amongst  whom  she  already  numbered  Mrs.  Lawrence 
of  Wavertree  Hall,  in  herself  a  host),  with  the  antici- 
pation of  superior  advantages  for  the  education  of  her 
boys,  and  of  more  literary  communion  for  herself, 
combined  to  influence  her  in  selecting  this  spot  for  her 
new  abode ;  and  the  eager  delight  with  which  her 
project  was  hailed  by  those  who  were  ready  with  open 
arms  to  receive  her  amongst  them,  contributed  not  a 
little  to  confirm  her  in  the  decision.  She  was  not  long 
in  fixing  upon  a  suitable  house,  situated  in  the  village 
of  Wavertree,  but  a  little  apart  from  the  road ;  and 
arrangements  were  accordingly  made  for  her  removal 


MEMOIR    OF    MRS.    HEMANS.  155 

in  the  following  September.  During  her  present  visit, 
notwithstanding  the  medical  restrictions  she  had  to 
submit  to,  her  spirits  were  refreshed  and  cheered  by 
much  enlivening  society,  and  the  formation  of  many 
new  acquaintances;  one  of  which,  that  with  the  Chor- 
ley  family,  soon  ripened  into  friendship.  Some  of  its 
members  were,  at  that  time,  interested  in  the  superin- 
tendence of  that  pretty  Annual,  The  Winter's  Wreath, 
for  which  Mrs.  Hemans's  contributions  had  been  solic- 
ited ;  and  the  correspondence  which  had  begun  on 
editorial  subjects,  led  first  of  all  to  personal  communi- 
cation, and  then  to  the  discovery  of  so  many  congenial 
tastes  and  pursuits  (more  especially  with  reference  to 
music  and  German  literature),  that  a  cordial  intimacy 
was  speedily  established,  and  Mrs.  Hemans  looked  for- 
ward to  its  cultivation  as  one  of  the  pleasant  features 
of  her  new  perspective.  This  anticipation  was  well 
borne  out  by  the  reality ;  many  of  her  happiest  hours 
of  intellectual  and  social  enjoyment  during  the  next 
two  years,  were  passed  at  Mrs.  Chorley's  friendly  fire- 
side, where  the  zealous  and  considerate  kindness  that 
always  awaited  her,  made  a  little  bright  realm  of 
home-like  sunshine,  which  was  just  the  atmosphere  in 
which  she  shone  "  brightest  and  best" — in  which  her 
mind  expanded  like  a  bower,  and  her  conversation 
flowed  forth  like  a  gushing  stream.  Though  the  inter- 
course thus  mutually  enjoyed  was  afterwards  dissolved 
by  her  final  change  of  residence,  she  always  reverted 
to  it  with  undiminished  pleasure.  To  the  thoughtful, 
steady,  indefatigable  friendship  of  Mr.  W.  B.  Chorley, 
more  particularly,  shown  in  a  thousand  acts  of  service 
to  herself  and  her  children,  she  would  often  allude 


156  MEMOIR    OF    MRS.  HEMANSo 

during  her  last  illness,  and  desire  he  might  be  assured 
how  gratefully  she  cherished  the  remembrance  of  it. 

Amongst  other  interesting  acquaintances  made  by 
her  at  this  time,  was  that  of  Mary  Howitt,  best  known 
by  her  own  sweet  and  simple  designation,  of  whose 
writings  she  had  long  been  a  sincere  admirer,  and 
whose  society  derived  an  additional  charm  from  her 
being  the  first  member  of  the  Society  of  Friends  whom 
Mrs.  Hemans  had  ever  known  personally,  though  she 
had  been  in  correspondence  with  more  than  one  of  the 
fraternity.  A  still  brighter  smile  of  good  fortune 
awaited  her,  in  the  unexpected  arrival  in  Liverpool 
of  her  kind  New  England  friends,  Mr.  and  Mrs.  Nor- 
ton. They  had  written  to  announce  their  coming,  but 
the  letter  had  not  been  received,  so  that  their  appear- 
ance was  quite  unlocked  for.  "  I  assure  you,"  wrote 
Mrs.  Hemans,  in  detailing  the  lucky  coincidences 
which  led  to  this  meeting,  "  the  delightful  surprise  was 
almost  too  much  for  me.  I  had  the  greatest  difficulty 
in  refraining  from  tears  when  I  first  met  them." 

The  short  personal  intercourse  she  was  permitted 
to  enjoy  with  these  interesting  friends,  was  a  source 
of  the  truest  gratification  to  her  both  in  the  reality 
and  the  retrospect.  She  had  the  pleasure  of  renewing 
it  for  a  few  days  on  her  return  into  Wales,  as,  after 
making  a  tour  through  the  most  remarkable  parts  of 
Great  Britain,  they  paid  a  visit  to  St.  Asaph  before 
re-embarking  for  America. 

This  period,  so  rich  in  friendships  and  recollections, 
was  also  the  one  which  brought  Mrs.  Hemans  into 
immediate  communication  with  another  bright  spirit, 
now,  like  her  own,  passed  away  from  earth.  This 


MEMOIR    OF    MRS.  HEMANS.  157 

was  the  late  Miss  Jewsbury,  afterwards  Mrs.  Fletcher 
—  whose  extraordinary  mental  powers,  and  lofty, 
ardent  nature,  have  never  been  appreciated  as  they 
deserved — were  never,  in  fact,  fully  manifested  except 
to  the  few  who  knew  her  intimately.  She  had  long 
admired  the  writings  of  Mrs.  Hemans  with  all  the 
enthusiasm  which  characterised  her  temperament ; 
and  having  been  for  some  time  in  correspondence  with 
her,  she  eagerly  sought  for  an  opportunity  of  knowing 
her  more  nearly,  and  with  this  view,  determined  upon 
passing  a  part  of  the  summer  and  autumn  of  1828  in 
the  neighbourhood  of  St.  Asaph.  No  better  accom- 
modation could  be  found  for  her  than  a  very  small 
dwelling  called  Primrose  Cottage,  a  corruption  (meant, 
perhaps,  for  a  refining)  of  its  original  appellation  of 
Pumrhos  (The  Five  Commons).  The  place  in  itself 
was  as  little  attractive  as  a  cottage  in  Wales  could 
well  be,  and  its  closeness  to  the  road  took  away  even 
from  its  rurality ;  but  it  possessed  the  advantage  of 
being  not  more  than  half  a  mile  from  Rhyllon  ;  and  it 
had  its  little  garden,  and  its  roses,  and  its  green  turf, 
and  pure  air ;  and  these  to  an  inhabitant  of  Manches- 
ter, which  Miss  Jewsbury  then  was,  were  things  of 
health  and  enjoyment.  Thither  then  she  repaired, 
with  the  young  sister  and  brothers  to  whom  she  had 
long  and  well  performed  the  duties  of  a  mother ;  and 
there  Mrs.  Hemans  found  her  established  on  her  own 
return  from  Waver  tree  at  the  end  of  July.  It  may 
well  be  conceived  how  soon  a  feeling  of  warm  interest 
and  thorough  understanding  sprang  up  between  two 
minds  so  rarely  gifted,  and  both  so  intent  upon  conse- 
crating their  gifts  to  the  highest  and  holiest  purposes. 
VOL.  I. 14 


158  MEMOIR    OF    MRS.  HEMANS. 

Yet  it  was  scarcely  possible  to  imagine  two  individual 
natures  more  strikingly  contrasted — the  one  so  intense- 
ly feminine,  so  susceptible  and  imaginative,  so  devoted 
to  the  tender  and  the  beautiful ;  the  other  endowed 
with  masculine  energies,  with  a  spirit  that  seemed 
born  for  ascendency,  with  strong  powers  of  reasoning, 
fathomless  profundity  of  thought,  and  feelings,  like 
those  of  her  own  Julia,1  "  flashing  forth  at  intervals 
with  sudden  and  Vesuvian  splendour,  making  the 
beholder  aware  of  depths  beyond  his  vision."  No  less 
an  authority  than  Mr.  Wordsworth  has  said  of  her, 
that  "  in  one  quality,  viz.,  quickness  in  the  motions  of 
the  mind,  she  had,  within  the  range  of  his  acquaint- 
ance, no  equal."2  With  all  this,  she  possessed  warm 
and  generous  affections,  a  peculiar  faculty  for  identi- 
fying herself  with  the  tastes  and  predilections  of  those 
she  loved,  and  in  conversation,  when  embodying  the 
conceptions  of  her  own  "  ever  salient  mind"  (to  quote 
an  expression  from  Bishop  Jebb),  a  singular  talent  for 
eliciting  thoughts  from  others,  which  reminded  one  of 
the  magic  properties  of  the  divining  rod.  From  early 
years  she  had  had  to  contend  with  that  precarious 
and  suffering  state  of  health,  so  often  the  accompani- 
ment of  the  restless,  ardent  spirit,  which 

"  O'er-informs  its  tenements  of  clay." 

She  came   into  Wales,  indeed,  completely  as  an 
invalid,  but  was  soon  sufficiently  recruited   to  enter 

3  In   The  Three  Histories. 

9  See  the  Note  to  the  Poem  of  "  Liberty,"  in  the  fifth  vol.  of 
Wordsworth's  Poetical  Works. 


MEMOIR    OF    MRS.  HEMANS.  159 

with  full  enjoyment  into  all  the  novelties  around  her, 
to  pass  long  mornings  in  the  dingle,  to  take  distant 
rides  on  her  donkey,  surrounded  by  a  troop  of  juve- 
nile knights-errant,  and  to  hold  levees  in  the  tent 
she  had  contrived  as  a  temporary  addition  to  her 
tiny  dwelling,  whose  wicket  gate  can  now  never  be 
passed,  by  those  still  left  to  remember  the  converse  of 
those  bright  hours,  without  a  gush  of  mournful  recol- 
lections. 

Many  of  the  poems  in  her  Lays  of  Leisure  Hours, 
which  she  dedicated  to  Mrs.  Hemans  "  in  remem- 
brance of  the  summer  passed  in  her  society,"  were 
written  in  this  little  cottage.  Some  of  them  were 
immediately  addressed  to  her,  particularly  that  "  To 
an  absent  one  ;"  and  the  first  of  the  series  of  "  Poet- 
ical Portraits,"  in  the  same  volume,  was  meant  to 
describe  her.  The  picture  of  "  Egeria,"  in  The  Three 
Histories,  written  by  Miss  Jewsbury  some  time  after- 
wards, was  avowedly  taken  from  the  same  original ; 
and  allowing  for  a  certain  degree  of  idealization,  is 
drawn  with  no  less  truth  than  delicacy,  and  may  well 
claim  an  introduction  in  this  place.  "  Egeria  was 
totally  different  from  any  other  woman  I  had  ever 
seen,  either  in  Italy  or  England.  She  did  not  dazzle, 
she  subdued  me.  Other  women  might  be  more  com- 
manding, more  versatile,  more  acute ;  but  I  never 
saw  one  so  exquisitely  feminine." 

*  %  %  #  # 

"  Her  birth,  her  education,  but  above  all,  the 
genius  with  which  she  was  gifted,  combined  to  inspire 
a  passion  for  the  ethereal,  the  tender,  the  imaginative, 
the  heroic, — in  one  word,  the  beautiful.  It  was  in 


160  MEMOIR    OF    MRS.  HEMANS. 

her  a  faculty  divine,  and  yet  of  daily  life — it  touched 
all  things,  but,  like  a  sun-beam,  touched  them  with  a 
6  golden  finger.'  Any  thing  abstract  or  scientific  was 
unintelligible  and  distasteful  to  her ;  her  knowledge 
was  extensive  and  various,  but,  true  to  the  first  prin- 
ciple of  her  nature,  it  was  poetry  that  she  sought  in 
history,  scenery,  character,  and  religious  belief, — 
poetry,  that  guided  all  her  studies,  governed  all  her 
thoughts,  coloured  all  her  conversation.  Her  nature 
was  at  once  simple  and  profound ;  there  was  no  room 
in  her  mind  for  philosophy,  nor  in  her  heart  for  am- 
bition ; — the  one  was  filled  by  imagination,  the  other 
engrossed  by  tenderness.  She  had  a  passive  temper, 
but  decided  tastes ;  any  one  might  influence,  but  very 
few  impressed  her.  Her  strength  and  her  weakness 
alike  lay  in  her  affections;  these  would  sometimes 
make  her  weep  at  a  word,  at  others,  imbue  her  with 
courage ;  so  that  she  was  alternately  '  a  falcon-hearted 
dove,'  and  '  a  reed  shaken  with  the  wind.'  Her  voice 
was  a  sad,  sweet  melody,  and  her  spirits  reminded  me 
of  an  old  poet's  description  of  the  orange  tree,  with  its 

"  Golden  lamps  hid  in  a  night  of  green ;" 

or  of  those  Spanish  gardens  where  the  pomegranate 
<*rows  beside  the  cypress.  Her  gladness  was  like  a 
burst  of  sun-light ;  and  if,  in  her  depression,  she  re- 
sembled night,  it  was  night  bearing  her  stars.  I 
might  describe  and  describe  for  ever,  but  I  should 
never  succeed  in  portraying  Egeria ;  she  was  a  muse, 
a  grace,  a  variable  child,  a  dependent  woman,  the 
Italy  of  human  beings." 

Miss  Jewsbury's  enthusiasm  for  the  poetry  of  Mr. 


MEMOIR    OF    MRS.  HEMANS.  161 

Wordsworth,  whose  friendship  she  regarded,  and  with 
reason,  as  one  of  the  highest  privileges  she  possessed, 
was  the  means  of  leading  Mrs.  Hemans  to  a  more 
close  and  intimate  acquaintance  with  the  treasures 
she  had  hitherto  reverenced  rather  with  vague  and 
general  admiration  than  with  earnest  and  individual 
study.  How  readily  this  obligation  was  acknowledged 
appears  in  a  letter,  the  date  of  which  was  considera- 
bly prior  to  that  of  Miss  Jewsbury's  visit  to  Wales. 

"  The  inclosed  lines,1  an  effusion  of  deep  and  sin- 
cere admiration,  will  give  you  some  idea  of  the  enjoy- 
ment, and  I  hope  I  may  say  advantage,  which  you 
have  been  the  means  of  imparting,  by  so  kindly 
entrusting  me  with  your  precious  copy  of  Words- 
worth's Miscellaneous  Poems.  It  has  opened  to  me 
such  a  treasure  of  thought  and  feeling,  that  I  shall 
always  associate  your  name  with  some  of  my  pleasant- 
est  recollections,  as  having  introduced  me  to  the  know- 
ledge of  what  I  can  only  regret  should  have  been  so 
long  a  6  Yarrow  unvisited.'  I  would  not  write  to  you 
sooner,  because  I  wished  to  tell  you  that  I  had  really 
studied  these  poems,  and  they  have  been  the  daily 
food  of  my  mind  ever  since  I  borrowed  them.  There 
is  hardly  any  scene  of  a  happy,  though  serious,  domes- 
tic life,  or  any  mood  of  a  reflective  mind,  with  the 
spirit  of  which  some  one  or  other  of  them  does  not 
beautifully  harmonize.  This  author  is  the  true  poet 
of  home,  arid  of  all  the  lofty  feelings  which  have 
their  root  in  the  soil  of  home  affections.  His  fine  son- 
nets to  Liberty,  and  indeed  all  his  pieces  which  have 

1  Those  addressed  "  To  the  Poet  Wordsworth." 
14* 


162  MEMOIR    OF    MRS.  HEMANS. 

any  reference  to  political  interest,  remind  me  of  the 
spirit  in  which  Schiller  has  conceived  the  character 
of  William  Tell,  a  calm,  single-hearted  herdsman  of 
the  hills,  breaking  forth  into  fiery  and  indignant  elo- 
quence, when  the  sanctity  of  his  hearth  is  invaded. 
Then  what  power  Wordsworth  condenses  into  single 
lines,  like  Lord  Byron's  '  curdling  a  long  life  into  one 
hour !' 

'  The  still,  sad  music  of  humanity' — 

'The  river  glideth  at  his  own  sweet  will' — 

4  Over  his  own  sweet  voice  the  stock-dove  broods' — 

and  a  thousand  others,  which  we  must  some  time  (and 
I  hope  not  a  very  distant  one),  talk  over  together. 
Many  of  these  lines  quite  haunt  me ;  and  I  have  a 
strange  feeling,  as  if  I  must  have  known  them  in  my 
childhood ;  they  come  over  me  so  like  old  melodies.  I 
can  hardly  speak  of  favourites  among  so  many  things 
that  delight  me ;  but  I  think  '  The  Narrow  Glen,'  the 
6  Lines  on  Corra  Linn,'  the  '  Song  for  the  Feast  of 
Brougham  Castle,'  '  Yarrow  Visited,'  and  '  The  Cuc- 
koo,' are  among  those  which  take  hold  of  imagination 
the  soonest,  and  recur  most  frequently  to  memory. 
#  *  #  #  #  # 

"  I  know  not  how  I  can  have  so  long  omitted  to 
mention  the  Ecclesiastical  Sketches,  which  I  have  read 
and  do  constantly  read,  with  deep  interest.  Their 
beauty  grows  upon  you  and  developes  as  you  study  it, 
like  that  of  the  old  pictures  by  the  Italian  masters." 

In  one  of  her  letters  of  this  autumn,  Mrs.  Hemans 
makes  mention  of  an  interesting  visit  she  had  received 
from  the  Poet  Montgomery  (not  the  new  aspirant  to 
that  name,  but  the  "  real  Peter  Bell"),  who  had  just 


MEMOIR    OF    MRS.  IIEMANS.  163 

come  from  Snowdon,  full  of  animation  and  enthusiasm. 
"  He  complained  much  in  the  course  of  conversation," 
she  writes,  "  and  I  heartily  joined  with  him,  of  the 
fancy  which  wise  people  have  in  the  present  times, 
for  setting  one  right ;  cheating  one,  that  is,  out  of  all 
the  pretty  old  legends  and  stories,  in  the  place  of  which 
they  want  to  establish  dull  facts.  We  mutually  grum- 
bled about  Fair  Rosamond,  Queen  Eleanor  and  the 
poisoned  wound,  Richard  the  Third  and  his  hump 
back ;  but  agreed  most  resolutely  that  nothing  should 
ever  induce  us  to  give  up  William  Tell." 

There  was  nothing  she  disliked  more  than  the  dis- 
turbance of  any  old  associations,  or  the  reasoning 
away  of  any  ancient  belief,  endeared  to  our  hearts  by 
the  childish  recollections  with  which  it  is  interwoven. 
"  I  admire  your  resolute  spirit  of  faith,"  she  once 
wrote  to  a  friend  who  had  been  visiting  some  scenes 
consecrated  by  tradition ;  "  for  my  part,  so  determined 
is  mine,  that  if  I  went  to  Rushin  Castle,  I  should  cer- 
tainly look  for  the  giant,  said  to  be  chained  and  slum- 
bering in  the  dark  vaults  of  that  pile." 

She  would  often  speak  with  delight  of  the  taste  she 
had  discovered  in  Bishop  Heber  for  fairy  tales  and 
fantastic  legends ;  and  it  is  needless  to  say  how  heartily 
she  entered  into  the  congenial  predilections  of  Sir 
Walter  Scott.  Her  own  enjoyment  of  such  fanciful 
creations  was  fresh  and  childlike.  The  "  Irish  Fairy 
Legends"  were  always  high  in  her  favour,  and  the 
"  German  popular  Stories"  were  as  familiar  to  her 
young  auditors  at  the  fireside  readings,  as  to  those  of 
Mr  Crabbe.1 

1  See  the  »  Life  of  Crabbe,"  p.  304. 


164  MEMOIR    OF    MRS.    HEMANS. 

"Alice  my  wife, 
The  plague  of  my  life," 

was  in  quite  as  bad  repute  amongst  them,  as  she  could 
have  been  at  Pucklechurch,  and  little  voices  would 
make  the  hearth  ring  with  manly  threats  of  "  what  / 
would  do,  if  I  had  such  a  wife  !" 

"  I  am  very  much  enjoying  myself,"  she  wrote  in 
one  of  her  notes  from  Wavertree,  "  in  the  society  of 
certain  Luft  und  Feuergeister,  Wasser  und  Wald- 
geister,  and  Feen  und  Feldgeister?  introduced  to  me 
by  the  worthy  Herr  Dobeneck,  in  a  book  of  Deutschcn 
Volltsglauben.2  These  geister  of  his,  are,  to  be  sure, 
a  little  wild  and  capricious  in  their  modes  of  proceed- 
ing ;  but  even  this  is  a  relief,  after  the  macadamized 
mortality  in  which  one  has  to  pass  all  the  days  of  one's 
life.  I  like  your  superstition  about  good  wishes,  and 
am  very  much  inclined  to  agree  with  him  who  says 
*  Es  ist  alles  wahr  wodurch  du  besser  wirst.9  " 3 

There  was  one  German  tradition  in  particular, 
"  Die  Sage  vom  Wolfsbrunnen"  (The  Legend  of  the 
Wolf's  Well,)  which  had  made  a  deep  impression 
upon  her  imagination,  and  at  one  time  she  had 
thought  of  making  it  the  subject  of  a  poem  of  some 
length ;  but  the  train  of  feeling  it  suggested  was  too 
painfully  exciting,  and  she  wisely  decided  upon  laying 
it  aside.4 

1  Air  and  Fire  Spirits,  Water  and  Wood  Spirits,  and  Fairies 
and  Field  Spirits. 

2  German  Popular  Superstitions. 

3  Every  thing  is  true  by  which  thou  art  made  better. 

4  The  Wolfsbrunnen,  a  place  of  real  existence,  is  situated  in 
a  romantic   little  valley  near  Heidelberg.     The   secluded   and 


MEMOIR    OF    MRS.  HEMANS.  165 

The  time  had  now  arrived  for  Mrs.  Hemans's  leav- 
ing Wales,  and  this  removal,  which  had  been  contem- 
plated at  a  distance  with  more  of  hope  than  of  dread, 
proved  in  the  reality  a  heart-rending  trial,  increased 
in  bitterness,  too,  by  the  additional  sorrow  of  parting 
with  her  two  eldest  boys,  who  were  sent  at  this  time 
to  join  their  father  at  Rome.  "  I  am  suffering  deep- 
ly," she  wrote  to  her  late  kind  hosts,  "  more  than  I 
could  have  dreamt  or  imagined,  from  the  '  farewell 
sadness.'  My  heart  seems  as  if  a  night-mare  weighed 

somewhat  melancholy  air  of  the  spot  accords  well  with  the  tra- 
dition belonging  to  it,  which  relates,  that  in  ancient  days,  long 
before  the  building  of  the  present  Castle  of  Heidelberg,  there 
existed,  on  the  mountain  where  the  ruins  called  the  Jetthe 
Buhl  are  still  to  be  seen,  an  enchanted  Castle,  which  was  in- 
habited by  a  maiden  of  surpassing  beauty,  generally  regarded 
as  a  sorceress.  A  young  hunter,  named  Ferrand,  famed  alike 
for  his  daring  deeds  and  manly  beauty,  had  one  day  the  hardi- 
hood to  penetrate  into  the  magic  precincts  of  the  Castle.  He 
became  enamoured  of  the  fair  Enchantress,  by  whom  his  love 
was  in  time  returned.  Yielding  to  his  incessant  importunities 
that  she  would  reveal  to  him  the  secret  of  her  supernatural 
powers,  she  at  last  disclosed  to  him  that  she  was  not  a  fairy,  but 
the  daughter  of  a  Northern  King,  and  that  it  had  been  predicted 
at  her  birth  that  she  was  to  become  the  prey  of  a  wolf.  Her 
mother,  who  was  of  Southern  origin,  had  consigned  her,  when 
on  her  own  deathbed,  to  the  care  of  an  enchanter,  who  had  pro- 
mised to  transport  her  far  from  the  rugged  regions  of  the  North. 
He  had  placed  ,her  in  this  Castle,  and  invested  her  with  Talis- 
mans to  ward  off  the  approach  of  evil.  These  were  the  white 
bird  which  perpetually  hovered  round  her,  the  girdle  cf  gems 
which  she  always  wore,  and  the  golden  Tiara  which  encircled 
her  beautiful  hair.  But  the  imperious  Ferrand  insisted  upon  her 
throwing  aside  all  these  appendages,  which  he  regarded  as  the 
spells  of  some  malignant  spirit,  and  making  an  assignation  with 


166  MEMOIR    OF    MRS.  H3MANS. 

it  down.  Seriously  and  truly,  I  am  most  careful  of 
myself,  though  too  many  conflicting  thoughts  and  feel- 
ings are  at  work  upon  me  now, — and  I  have  to  say 
too  many  of  those  '  words  which  must  be  and  have 
been/  to  admit  of  my  making  the  progress  I  other- 
wise might.  You  know  it  is  impossible  I  should  be 
better  till  all  these  billows  have  passed  over  me.  The 
improvisatore  talent  has  scarcely  deserted  me  yet,  but 
it  is  gushing  from  a  fountain  of  tears  —  Oh  !  that  I 
could  but  lift  up  my  heart,  and  sustain  it  at  that 
height  where  alone  the  calm  sunshine  is  !" 

The  description  of  her  feelings,  when  the  actual 
parting  took  place,  proves  that  there  was  no  exagge- 
ration in  the  affectionate  sadness  of  her  "  Farewell 

him  to  show  herself  to  his  parents  as  a  simple  mortal,  divested 
of  all  supernatural  attributes.  The  gentle  Welleda  consented, 
though  dark  inward  forebodings  whispered  but  too  plainly  of  the 
fatal  consequences  that  would  ensue:  these  warnings  she  im- 
parted to  her  ungenerous  lover,  but  without  shaking  his  purpose. 
She  promised,  therefore,  to  meet  him  in  the  evening,  by  the  side 
of  this  fountain,  under  the  shade  of  its  overarching  lime  trees. 
Thither  she  repaired  at  the  appointed  hour,  and  Ferrand,  hasten- 
ing to  the  rendezvous,  arrived  at  the  very  moment  when  the 
fang  of  a  ravenous  wolf  had  inflicted  a  mortal  wound  on  his 
hapless  Welleda.  Frantic  with  horror  and  remorse,  he  anni- 
hilated the  ferocious  animal  on  the  spot,  and  then  turned  to 
receive  the  last  sighs  of  the  fond  being  who  had  sacrificed  her- 
self to  his  exacting  tyranny.  He  buried  her  beside  the  fountain, 
and  quitted  the  spot  no  more  till  his  own  death,  which  followed 
erelong.  A  kind  shepherd  then  laid  him  beside  his  Welleda, 
and  planted  a  Linden  tree  on  the  mound  of  turf  which  covered 
the  remains  of  these  unfortunate  lovers. 

This  legend  has  been  worked  up  into  a  pretty  little  prose 
romance  in  German  by  Madame  Von  Helwig. 


MEMOIR    OF    MRS.  HEMANS.  167 

to  Wales,5'  and  the  blessing  she  thus  fondly  left  with 
it:  — 

"  The  sound  of  thy  streams  in  my  spirit  I  bear  — 
Farewell !  and  a  blessing  be  with  thee,  green  land ! 
On  thy  hearths,  on  thy  halls,  on  thy  pure  mountain  air, 
On  the  chords  of  the  harp,  and  the  minstrel's  free  hand! 
From  the  love  of  my  soul  with  my  tears  it  is  shed, 
As  I  leave  thee,  green  land  of  my  home  and  my  dead." 

"Oh!  that  Tuesday  morning!"  (thus  she  wrote  in 
her  first  letter  to  St.  Asaph.)  "  I  literally  covered 
my  face  all  the  way  from  Bronwylfa  until  the  hoys 
told  me  we  had  passed  the  Clwyd  range  of  hills.  Then 
something  of  the  bitterness  was  over. 

"  Miss  P.  met  me  at  Bagillt,  and  on  board  the 
packet  we  found  Mr.  D.,  who  was  kinder  to  me  than 
I  can  possibly  tell  you.  He  really  watched  over  me 
all  the  way  with  a  care  I  shall  not  soon  forget ;  and 
notwithstanding  all  you  may  say  of  female  protection, 
I  felt  that  of  a  gentleman  to  be  a  great  comfort,  for 
we  had  a  difficult  and  disagreeable  landing.  As  we 
entered  the  port,  a  vessel  coming  out,  struck  against 
ours,  and  caused  a  great  concussion ;  there  was  no 
danger,  I  imagine,  but  it  gave  one  a  faint  notion  of 
what  the  meeting  must  have  been  between  the  Comet 
and  the  Aire.  We  had  a  pretty  sight  on  the  Water ; 
another  packet,  loaded,  clustered  all  over  with  blue- 
coat  boys,  sailed  past.  It  was  their  annual  holiday, 
on  which  they  have  a  water  excursion ;  and  as  they 
went  by,  all  the  little  fellows  waved  their  hats,  and 
sent  forth  three  cheers,  which  made  our  vessel  ring 
again.  Only  imagine  a  ship-load  of  happiness !  That 
word  reminds  me  of  my  own  boys,  who  are  enjoying 


168  MEMOIR    OF    MRS.  HEMANS. 

themselves  greatly.     Of  myself,  what   can  I  say  to 

you  ? When  I  look  back  on  the  short  time 

that  has  elapsed  since  I  left  this  place,  I  am  astonish- 
ed ;  I  seem  in  it  to  have  lived  an  age  of  deep,  strong, 
vain  feeling." 

After  remaining  for  a  time  with  her  ever  consider- 
ate friends  at  Wavertree  Lodge,  Mrs.  Hemans  at 
length  took  possession  of  her  own  little  domicile, 
where  she  was  surrounded  by  all  that  the  most  sedu- 
lous kindness  could  devise,  to  foster  and  shelter,  and 
reconcile  her  to  the  new  soil  in  which  she  was  now 
to  take  root.  Not  only  by  the  old  friends  on  whose 
regard  she  had  a  claim,  but  by  numbers  hitherto 
strangers,  she  was  overwhelmed  with  offers  of  service 
and  marks  of  courtesy.  From  the  overtures  of  the 
latter,  however,  she  was,  in  a  great  measure,  obliged 
to  withdraw,  as  her  habits,  her  health,  the  urgency 
of  her  literary  occupations,  and  the  indescribable 
pressure  of  correspondence,  of  which  words  can 
scarcely  give  any  adequate  idea — for  of  letters  and 
notes  it  might  really  be  said  that 

"Each  minute  teems  a  new  one" — 

made  it  absolutely  impossible  for  her  to  keep  up  the 
conventional  forms  and  etiquettes  of  an  extensive  gene- 
ral acquaintance.  Nothing  could  be  further  from  her 
nature  than  ungraciousness  or  incivility  ;  yet,  from 
circumstances  quite  beyond  her  own  control,  for  which 
few  were  disposed  to  make  sufficient  allowances,  she 
often  incurred  the  charge  of  both,  through  an  utter 
want  both  of  leisure  and  physical  energy,  to  cope  with 
all  the  bewildering  claims  upon  her  attention. 


MEMOIR    OF    MRS.  HEMANS.  169 

A  few  extracts  from  notes  written  soon  after  her 
establishment  at  Wavertree,  will  best  express  her  own 
views  and  feelings. 

"  I  have  no  taste,  no  health,  for  the  enjoyment  of 
extensive  society.  I  have  been  all  my  life  a  creature 
of  hearth  and  home,  and  now  that  « the  mother  that 
looked  on  my  childhood'  is  gone,  and  that  my  brothers 
and  sisters  are  scattered  far  and  wide,  I  have  no  wish, 
but  to  gather  around  me  the  few  friends  who  will  love 
me  and  enter  into  my  pursuits.  I  wish  I  could  give 
you  the  least  idea  of  what  kindness  is  to  me — how 
much  more,  how  far  dearer  than  Fame.  I  trust  we 
may  pass  many  pleasant  evenings  together  this  winter 
at  my  little  dwelling,  which  I  hope  to  see  often  cheered 
and  lit  up  by  happy  and  familiar  faces." 


"  Generally  speaking,  I  cannot  tell  you  how  painful 
going  out  is  to  me  now.  I  know  it  is  a  weakness  which 
I  must  conquer,  but  I  feel  so  alone,  so  unprotected, 
and  this  weary  celebrity  makes  such  things^  I  believe, 
press  the  more  bitterly." 


"  I  can  well  imagine  the  weariness  and  disgust  with 
which  a  mind  of  intellectual  tastes  must  be  oppressed 
by  the  long  days  of  *  work-day  world '  cares,  so  utterly 
at  variance  with  such  tastes;  and. yet,  perhaps,  the 
opposite  extreme  is  scarcely  more  to  be  desired.  Mine, 
I  believe,  has  been  too  much  a  life  of  thought  and 
feeling  for  health  and  peace.  I  can  certainly  quit  this 
little  world  of  my  own  for  active  duties ;  for,  however 
I  may  at  times  playfully  advocate  the  cause  of  weak- 

VOL.    I. 15 


170  MEMOIR    OF    MRS.  HEMANS. 

ness,  there  is  no  one  who  has,  with  deeper  need  for 
strength,  a  fuller  conviction  of  its  necessity ;  but  it  is 
often  by  an  effort,  and  a  painful  one,  that  I  am  ena- 
bled to  obtain  it." 


The  following  letters  will  equally  speak  for  them- 
selves:— 

"Nov.  10th,  1828. 

"  MY  DEAR  MlSS  MlTFORD, 

"  Accept  my  late,  though  sincere  and  cordial  con- 
gratulations on  the  brilliant  success  of  Rienzi,  of 
which  I  have  read  with  unfeigned  gratification.  I 
thought  of  your  father  and  mother,  and  could  not  help 
imagining  that  your  feelings  must  be  like  those  of  the 
Greek  general,  who  declared  that  his  greatest  delight 
in  victory  arose  from  the  thought  of  his  parents.  I 
have  no  doubt  that  your  enjoyment  of  your  triumph 
has  been  of  a  similar  nature.  I  ought  to  have  acknow- 
ledged long,  long  since,  your  kind  present  of  the  little 
volume  of  plays,  valued  both  for  your  sake  and  theirs, 
for  they  are  indeed  full  of  beauty  ;  but  I  have  been  a 
drooping  creature  for  months, — ill,  and  suffering  much 
from  the  dispersion  of  a  little  band  of  brothers  and 
sisters,  among  whom  I  had  lived,  and  who  are  now  all 
scattered ;  and,  strange  as  it  may  seem  to  say,  I  am 
now,  for  the  first  time  in  my  life,  holding  the  reins  of 
government,  independent,  managing  a  household  my- 
self; and  I  never  liked  anything  less  than  '  ce  triste 
empire  de  soi-meme.'  It  really  suits  me  as  ill  as  the 
southron  climate  did  your  wild  Orkney  school-girls, 
whom  perhaps  you,  the  creator  of  so  many  fair  forms 
arid  images,  may  have  forgotten,  but  I  have  not.  I 


MEMOIR    OF    MRS.  HEMANS.  171 

have  changed  my  residence  since  I  last  wrote  to  you, 
and  my  address  is  now  at  Wavertree,  near  Liverpool, 
where  I  shall,  as  the  Welsh  country-people  say,  '  take 
it  very  kind'  if  you  write  to  me ;  and  I  really  cannot 
help  venturing  to  hope  that  you  will.  I  have  yet 
only  read  of  Rienzi  a  few  noble  passages  given  by  the 
newspapers  and  magazines,  but  in  a  few  days  I  hope 
to  be  acquainted  with  the  whole.  Every  woman 
ought  to  be  proud  of  your  triumph — in  this  age,  too, 
when  dramatic  triumph  seems  of  all  others  the  most 
difficult.  How  are  May,  and  Mossy,  and  Lucy,  and 
Jack  Hatch  ? — no,  Jack  Hatch  actually  died,  to  the 
astonishment  of  myself  and  my  boys,  who  thought,  I 
believe,  he  had  been  '  painted  for  eternity' — and  Mrs. 
Allen,  and  the  rest  of  the  dear  villagers?  I  trust 
they  are  well.  Your  mother,  I  believe,  is  always  an 
invalid,  but  I  hope  she  is  able  fully  to  enjoy  the  suc- 
cess of  her  daughter,  as  only  a  mother  can  enjoy  it. 
How  hollow  sounds  the  voice  of  Fame  to  an  orphan  ! l 
Farewell,  my  dear  Miss  Mitford — long  may  you  have 
the  delight  of  gladdening  a  father  and  mother !" 

«  Wavertree,  Dec.  llth,  182a 
"  MY  DEAR  MRS.  HOWITT, 

"  You  will  not,  I  trust,  have  thought  me  very 
ungrateful  for  your  delightful  letter,  though  it  has 
been  left  so  long  unanswered.  I  am  sure  I  shall  give 

1  In  one  of  Mrs.  Hemans's  MS.  books  is  an  extract  from  Rich- 
ter,  of  which  she  must  have  felt  the  full  force.  "  O  thou  who 
hast  still  a  father  and  a  mother,  thank  God  for  it  in  the  day  when 
thy  soul  is  full  of  joyful  tears,  and  needs  a  bosom  whereon  to 
died  them !" 


172  MEMOIR    OF    MRS.  HEMANS. 

your  heart  greater  pleasure  by  writing  now,  than  I 
could  have  done  by  an  immediate  reply;  for  I  had 
suffered  so  deeply,  so  much  more  than  I  had  imagined 
possible,  from  leaving  Wales,  and  many  kind  and  '  old 
familiar  faces'  there,  as  well  as  from  the  breaking  up 
of  my  family  on  the  occasion  of  my  sister's  marriage, 
that  my  spirits  were,  long  after  my  arrival  here,  over- 
shadowed by  constant  depression.  My  health,  also, 
had  been  much  affected  by  mental  struggles,  and  I 
thought  within  myself,  '  I  will  not  write  what  I  know 
will  only  sadden  so  kind  a  heart ;  I  will  wait  till  the 
sunshine  breaks  in.'  And  now,  I  can  tell  you  that  it 
begins  to  dawn  ;  for  my  health  and  spirits  are  decidedly 
improving,  and  I  am  reconciling  myself  to  many  things 
in  my  changed  situation,  which,  at  first,  pressed  upon 
my  heart  with  all  the  weight  of  a  Switzer's  home 
sickness.  Among  these,  is  the  want  of  hills.  Oh  !  this 
waveless  horizon  ! — how  it  wearies  the  eye  accustomed 
to  the  sweeping  outline  of  mountain  scenery  !  I  would 
wish  that  there  were,  at  least,  woodlands,  like  those 
so  delightfully  pictured  in  your  husband's  Chapter  on 
Woods,  to  supply  their  place ;  but  it  is  a  dull,  unin- 
ventive  nature  all  around  here,  though  there  must  be 
somewhere  little  fairy  nooks,  which  I  hope,  by  degrees, 
to  discover.  I  must  recur  to  the  before-mentioned 
Chapter,  it  delighted  me  so  particularly  by  the  fresh- 
ness of  its  spirit,  deep  feeling,  and  minute  observation 
of  nature.  '  The  fading  of  the  leaf,  which  ought 
rather  to  be  called  the  kindling  of  the  leaf,' — how 
truly  and  how  poetically  was  that  said  !  That  I  might 
become  better  acquainted  with  his  writings,  I  have 
lately  borrowed  some  volumes  of  Time's  Telescope,  in 


MEMOIJl    OF    MRS.  HEMANS.  178 

which  I  believed  I  could  not  fail  to  discover  the  same 
characteristics;  and  I  anticipate  much  enjoyment 
from  The  Book  of  the  Seasons,  which,  I  am  sure,  will 
be  a  rich  treasury  of  natural  imagery  and  pure  feel- 
ing.1 

"  I  hear,  with  great  pleasure,  my  dear  friend,  that 
the  place  of  your  lost  one  is  to  be  supplied,  <  the  hol- 
low of  his  absence'  filled  up.  All  the  kindly  wishes 
of  a  woman's  and  a  mother's  heart  attend  you  on  the 
occasion ! 

*  *  *  *  # 

"  I  trust  your  dear  little  girl  is  well.  Has  she  quite 
forgotten  '  Felicia  Hemans  ?'  I  cannot  tell  you  with 
how  much  pleasure  I  read  your  praises  in  the  Noctes 
Jlmbrosiance.  They  were  bestowed,  too,  in  language 
so  delicate  and  appropriate,  that  I  think  you  must 
have  felt  gratified,  especially  as  you  have  one  to 
gratify  by  your  success." 

A  remarkable  instance  of  Mrs.  Hemans's  powers 
of  memory,  is  recorded  about  this  time,  in  the  fact 
of  her  having  repeated,  and  even  written  down,  with 
extraordinary  accuracy,  the  beautiful  stanzas  address- 


1  In  this  anticipation  she  was  not  disappointed ;  for  she  wrote 
of  it  two  years  after  as  "  a  little  book  which  has  quite  charmed 
me.  Do  you  know,"  she  continued,  "  I  think  that  the  rumours 
of  political  strife  and  convulsion  now  ringing  round  us  on  all 
sides,  make  the,  spirit  long  more  intensely  for  the  freshness,  and 
purity,  and  stillness  of  nature,  and  take  deeper  delight  in  every- 
thing that  recalls  these  lovely  images.  I  am  sure  I  shall  forget 
all  sadness,  and  feel  as  happy  as  a  child  or  a  fawn,  when  I  can 
be  free  again  amongst  hills  and  woods.  I  long  for  them  *  as  the 
hart  for  the  water  brooks.' " 
15* 


174  MEMOIR    OF   MRS.  HEMANS. 

ed  by  Lord  Byron  to  his  sister,  after  hearing  them 
only  twice  read  aloud  in  manuscript 

A  few  extracts,  bearing  more  particularly  on  lite- 
rary subjects,  will  give  some  idea  of  her  predominant 
tastes  at  this  period. 

"  I  send  Herder's  beautiful  ballads  of  The  Cid,  and 
I  wish  you  may  take  as  much  pleasure  as  I  have  al- 
ways done  in  their  proud  clarion  music.  I  often 
think  what  a  dull,  faded  thing  life  —  such  life  as  we 
lead  in  this  later  age — would  appear  to  one  of  those 
fiery  knights  of  old.  Only  imagine  my  Cid,  spurring 
the  good  steed  Bavieca  through  the  streets  of  Liver- 
pool, or  coming  to  pass  an  evening  with  me  at  Waver- 
tree !" 


"  I  owe  you  many  thanks  for  so  kindly  introducing 
me  to  all  those  noble  thoughts  of  Richter's.  I  think 
the  vision  in  the  church  magnificent  both  in  purpose 
and  conception :  it  is  scarcely  possible  to  stop  for  the 
contemplation  of  occasional  extravagances,  when 
borne  along  so  rapidly  and  triumphantly,  as  by  *  a 
mighty  rushing  wind,'  some  of  the  detached  thoughts 
are  so  exquisite." 

***** 

"Now,  let  me  introduce  you  to  a  dear  friend  of 
mine,  Tieck's  Sternbald,  in  whose  Wanderungen, 
which  I  now  send — if  you  know  them  not  already  — 
I  cannot  but  hope  that  you  will  take  almost  as  much 
delight  as  I  have  done  amidst  my  own  free  hills  and 
streams,  where  his  favourite  book  has  again  and  again 
been  my  companion." 


MEMOIR    OF    MRS.    HEMANS.  175 

"  We  have  been  talking  much  of  French  poetry 
lately.  Do  you  know  the  Dernier  Chant  de  Corinne  ? 
I  sent  it,  marked  in  the  third  volume  of  the  book,  and 
you  shall  have  the  others  if  you  wish.  If  the  soul, 
without  the  form,  be  enough  to  constitute  poetry,  then 

it  surely  is  poetry  of  the  very  highest  order. 

***** 
"That  book  (Corinne),  in  particular  towards  its 
close,  has  a  power  over  me  which  is  quite  indescrib- 
able. Some  passages  seem  to  give  me  back  my  own 
thoughts  and  feelings,  my  whole  inner  being,  with  a 
mirror  more  true  than  ever  friend  could  hold  up." 


"  How  very  beautiful  are  those  letters  of  Lord  Col- 
lingwood  to  his  family !  —  there  is  something  in  all 
those  thoughts  of  hearth  and  home,  and  of  the  garden 
trees  and  of  the . '  old  summer-seat/  which,  breathing 
as  they  do  from  amidst  the  far  and  lonely  seas,  affect 
us  like  an  exile's  song  of  his  fatherland.  The  letters 
to  his  wife  brought  strongly  to  my  mind  the  poor 
Queen  of  Prussia's  joyous  exclamations  in  the  midst 
of  her  last  sufferings — *  Oh  !  how  blessed  is  she  who 
receives  such  a  letter  as  this !'  " 


"  I  send  my  copy  of  Iphigenia,  because  I  shall  like 
to  know  whether  you  are  as  much  struck  with  all 
that  I  have  marked  in  it  as  I  have  been.  Do  you 
remember  all  we  were  saying  on  the  obscurity  of 
female  suffering  in  such  stormy  days  of  the  lance  and 
spear,  as  the  good  Fray  Agapida  describes  so  vividly  ? 
Has  not  Goethe  beautifully  developed  the  idea  in  the 
lines  which  I  inclose?  They  occur  in  Iphigenia's 
supplication  to  Thoas  for  her  brother." 


376  MEMOIR    OF    MRS.  HEMANS. 

"  I  have  been  delighted  with  the  paper  on  Burns,1 
which  you  were  kind  enough  to  lend  me.  I  think 
that  the  writer  has  gone  further  into  *  the  heart  of 
the  mystery'  than  any  other,  because  he,  almost  the 
first  of  all,  has  approached  the  subject  with  a  deep 
reverence  for  genius,  but  a  still  deeper  for  truth:  all 
the  rest  have  seemed  only  anxious  to  make  good  the 
attack  or  the  defence.  And  there  is  a  feeling,  too,  of 
*  the  still  sad  music  of  humanity'  throughout,  which 
bears  upon  the  heart  a  conviction  full  of  power,  that 
it  is  listening  to  the  voice  of  a  brother.  I  wonder 
who  the  writer  is :  he  certainly  gives  us  a  great  deal 
of  what  Boswell,  I  think,  calls  '  bark  and  steel  for  the 
mind.'  I,  at  least,  found  it  in  several  passages;  but 
I  fear  that  a  woman's  mind  never  can  be  able,  and 
never  was  formed  to  attain  that  power  of  sufficiency 
to  itself,  which  seems  to  lie  somewhere  or  other 
amongst  the  rocks  of  a  man's." 


"  I  send  you  the  Moravian  air  ;  and  this  is  the  old 
Swedish  tradition  of  which  I  was  speaking  to  you  last 
night.  There  is  a  dark  lake  somewhere  among  the 
Swedish  mountains,  and  in  the  lake  there  is  an  island 
of  pines,  and  on  the  island  an  old  castle,  and  there  is 
a  spirit-keeper,  who  lives  far  down  in  the  lake,  and 
when  any  evil  is  going  to  befall  the  inhabitants  of  the 
castle,  he  rises  to  the  surface,  and  plays  a  most  mourn- 
ful ditty  on  his  shadowy  harp,  and  they  know  that  it 
is  a  music  of  warning.  I  met  with  it  in  Olaus  Mag- 
nus— such  a  strange  wild  book  !" 

1  That  by  Carlyle  in  the  Edinburgh  Review. 


MEMOIR    OF    MRS.  HEMANS.  177 

"  Did  it  ever  strike  you  how  much  lighter  sorrow's 
'  pining  cares'  become,  out  in  the  free  air,  and  under 
the  blue  sky,  than  *  beneath  a  smoky  roof/  as  the  sea- 
kings  of  old  used  to  say  ?  For  my  part,  I  am  never 
the  least  surprised  to  hear  of  people  becoming  fasci- 
nated with  Indian  life,  and  giving  up  all  our  boasted 
refinements  for  the  range  of  the  tameless  forests. 
This  reminds  me  of  some  American  books,  which  I 
send  you  ;  in  one  of  them,  New  England's  Memorial, 
I  wish  to  call  your  attention  to  the  beautiful  map  at 
the  beginning,  with  all  those  gallant  ships,  and  groups 
of  armed  men,  and  wolves  and  bears  wandering  about, 
to  express,  I  suppose,  the  dangers  which  the  pilgrim 
fathers  so  bravely  encountered.  The  other,  Made- 
moiselle  Riedesel's  Memoirs,  I  send  for  Mrs.  C.,  whom, 
I  think,  it  will  interest:  the  heroine  goes  through 
many  trials,  but,  sustained  as  she  is  by  '  the  strong 
affection  which  overcometh  all  things,'  who  can  look 
upon  her  with  pity?" 

"  I  am  quite  surprised  at  your  liking  my  '  Storm- 
Painter'  so  much :  as  an  expression  of  strong  and  per- 
turbed feeling,  I  could  not  satisfy  myself  with  it  in  the 
least ; — it  seemed  all  done  in  pale  water-colours." 


"  Will  you  tell  your  brother,  I  regretted,  after  you 
and  he  had  left  me  the  other  evening,  that,  instead  of 
Werner's  Luther,  which  I  do  not  think  will  interest 
him  much,  I  had  not  lent  him  one  of  my  greatest 
favourites,  Grillparzer's  Sappho.  I  therefore  send  it 
him  now.  It  is,  in  my  opinion,  full  of  beauty,  which 
I  am  sure  he  will  appreciate,  and  of  truth,  developing 


178  MEMOIR    OF    MRS.  HEMANS. 

itself  clearly  and  sorrowfully  through  the  colouring 
mists  of  imagination." 


"  I  have  been  thinking  much  of  the  German  scenes 
for  translation,  respecting  which  you  paid  me  the 
compliment  of  wishing  for  my  opinion.  The  inter- 
view between  Philip  the  Second  and  Posa1  is  certainly 
very  powerful,  but  to  me  its  interest  is  always  de- 
stroyed by  a  sense  of  utter  impossibility,  which  haunts 
me  throughout.  Not  even  Schiller's  mighty  spells  can, 
I  think,  win  the  most  '  unquestioning  spirit'  to  suppose 
that  such  a  voice  of  truth  and  freedom  could  have 
been  lifted  up,  and  endured,  in  the  presence  of  the 
cold,  stern  Philip  the  Second — that  he  would,  even 
for  a  moment,  have  listened  to  the  language  thus  fear- 
lessly bursting  from  a  noble  heart.  Three  of  the  most 
impressive  scenes  towards  the  close  of  the  play,  might, 
I  think,  be  linked  together,  leaving  out  the  intervening 
ones,  with  much  effect;  —  the  one  in  which  Carlos, 
standing  by  the  body  of  his  friend,  forces  his  father  to 
the  contemplation  of  the  dead :  the  one  in  which  the 
king  comes  forward,  with  his  fearful,  dreamy  remorse, 
alone  amidst  his  court, 

Gieb  diesen  todten  mir  heraus,  cj-c.2 

and  the  subsequent  interview  between  Philip  and  the 
Grand  Inquisitor,  in  which  the  whole  spirit  of  those 
fanatic  days  seems  embodied. 

"  There  is  a  scene  in  one  of  Oehlenschlager's  dra- 
mas, Der  Hirtenkndbe?  which  has  always  affected  me 

1  In  Schiller's  Don  Carlos.    a "  Give  me  this  dead  one  back  " 
8  The  Shepherd  Boy. 


MEMOIR    OF    MRS.  REMANS.  179 

strongly.  It  has  also  the  recommendation  of  telling 
its  own  tale  at  once,  without  need  of  any  prelimina- 
ries. An  aged  priest  wishes  by  degrees,  and  with  ten- 
derness, to  reveal  to  a  father  the  death  of  his  only 
child.  The  father,  represented  as  a  bold  and  joyous 
character,  full  of  hope,  and  strength,  and  muth  des 
lebens,1  attributes  all  the  '  dark  sayings/  and  mournful 
allusions  of  his  visitant,  to  the  natural  despondency 
of  age,  and  attempts  to  cheer  him  by  descriptions  of 
his  bright  domestic  happiness.  "  Starke  dich,"  he 
says,  "  in  meinen  sonnenschein  !"2  The  very  exulta- 
tion of  his  spirit  makes  you  tremble  for  him,  and  feel 
that  fate  is  approaching :  at  last,  the  old  man  unco- 
vers the  body  of  the  child,  and  then  the  passionate 
burst  of  the  father's  grief  is  indeed  overpowering : — 
then  the  mother  enters,  and  even  amidst  all  her 
anguish,  the  meekness  of  a  more  subdued  ^and  chas- 
tened being  is  felt,  and  beautifully  contrasted  with  her 
husband's  despair. 

"  In  Goethe's  Egmont,  the  scenes  in  which  Clarchen 
endeavours  to  rouse  the  spirit  of  the  bewildered  citi- 
zens, and  in  which  Brackenburg  communicates  to  her 
the  preparations  for  Egmont's  execution,  seem  to 
stand  out  from  the  rest  in  the  bold  relief  of  their 
power  and  passion ;  and  the  interview  between  Eg- 
mont  in  prison  and  Ferdinand,  the  son  of  his  enemy, 
who  soothes  even  the  anguish  of  those  moments  by 
the  free-will' offering  of  his  young  heart's  affection 
and  reverence,  I  have  always  thought  most  deeply 
touching." 

1  Spirit  of  life.  8  Strengthen  thyself  in  my  sunshine. 


180  MEMOIR    OP   MRS.  HEMANS. 

It  may  here  not  be  out  of  place  to  introduce  a  few 
recollections  regarding  Mrs.  Hemans's  progressive 
tastes,  supplied  by  the  friend  already  described,  as 
having  been  for  so  many  years  her  indefatigable  lite- 
rary purveyor. 

"  My  book  beckifications  in  the  days  of  old  were 
multifarious  enough;  in  English,  French*  German, 
Italian,  and  Spanish  poetry ;  or  prose  (not  prosy  prose), 
grave  or  gay,  lively  or  severe,  history  or  fiction  (the 
history  chiefly  of  feudal  ages),  essay  or  criticism ;  only 
nothing  in  the  service  of  science  ever  found  a  place  in 
them.1  At  a  later  period,  during  her  Waver  tree  resi- 
dence, I  was  often  struck  with  the  change  of  her 
tastes,  which  then  seemed  to  have  retreated  from  the 
outer  world,  and  devoted  themselves  exclusively  to  the 
passionate  and  imaginative.  The  German  poets  were 
always  on  her  table,  especially  Goethe.  Wordsworth 
was  ever  growing  in  her  favour,  yet  I  think  at  that 
time  she  oftener  quoted  Byron,  Shelley,  and  Madame 
de  Stael,  than  any  other.  This  was  aliment  too 
stimulating  for  an  organization  that  so  much  needed 

1  All  the  works  of  Sismondi,  particularly  the  Litter ature  du 
Midi,  and  Republiques  Italiennes,  held  a  high  place  in  her  esti- 
mation ;  perhaps  she  prized  them  all  the  more  from  their  having 
been  especial  favourites  of  her  mother.  Fauriel's  Chants  Popu- 
laires  de  la  Grece  Moderne,  opened  out  to  her  a  world  of  new 
ideas  and  feelings,  and  suggested,  as  the  books  she  loved  always 
did,  some  of  her  sweetest  lyrics. 

Amongst  the  old  household  favourites,  none  wab  more  popular 
than  the  Narrative  of  a  Ten  Years1  Residence  in  Tripoli,  by 
the  sister-in-law  of  Mr.  Tully ;  and  in  one  of  Mrs.  Hemans's 
letters,  she  says — **  What  will  you  think  of  our  wanting  to  bor- 
row, for  the  sixth  time,  the  dear  old  letters  from  Tripoli  1" 


MEMOIR    OP    MRS.  HEMANS.  181 

more  sedative  influences — and  while  her  poetry  at 
that  period  was  deeper,  tenderer,  more  touching  than 
ever,  it  was  like  the  pelican's  heart-blood,  poured 
forth  (if  naturalists  would  let  these  pretty  stories  pass) 
to  feed  her  brood." 

One  of  the  peculiar  features  of  the  increased  sensi- 
tiveness of  her  temperament  at  this  time,  was  an 
awakened  enthusiasm  for  music,  which  amounted  to 
an  absolute  passion.  "  I  do  not  think,"  she  wrote, 
"that  I  can  bear  the  burthen  of  my  life  without 
music  for  more  than  two  or  three  days."  Yet,  with 
sensibilities  so  exquisite  as  hers,  this  melomania  was 
a  source  of  far  more  pain  than  pleasure ;  it  was  so 
impossible  for  any  earthly  strains  to  approach  that 
ideal  and  unattainable  standard  of  perfection  which 
existed  within  her  mind,  and  which  she  has  shadowed 
forth  with  a  mournful  energy  in  "  Mozart's  Requiem." 

Like  perfumes  on  the  wind, 

Which  none  may  stay  or  bind, 
The  beautiful  comes  rushing  through  my  soul ; 

I  strive,  with  yearnings  vain, 

The  spirit  to  detain, 
Of  the  deep  harmonies  that  past  me  roll. 

Therefore  disturbing  dreams 

Trouble  the  secret  streams 
And  founts  of  music  that  o'erflow  my  breast ; 

Something  far  more  divine 

Than  may  on  earth  be  mine, 
Haunts-  my  worn  heart,  and  will  not  let  me  rest. 

From  time  to  time,  however,  she  had  enjoyment  of 
music  of  a  very  high  character,  for  much  of  which 
she  was  indebted  to  her  acquaintance  with  Mr.  Lodge, 
the  distinguished  amateur,  by  whom  so  many  of  her 

VOL.  I. 16 


182  MEMOIR    OF    MRS.    HEMANS. 

songs  have  been  set  to  melodies  of  infinite  beauty  and 
feeling.  At  a  somewhat  later  period  she  derived 
much  delight  from  the  talents  of  Mr.  James  Zengheer 
Herrmann,  from  whom,  for  a  time,  she  took  lessons, 
for  the  express  purpose  of  studying,  and  fully  under- 
standing, the  Stabat  Mater  of  Pergolesi,  which  had 
taken  an  extraordinary  hold  of  her  imagination. 
This  fine  composition  was  first  brought  to  her  notice 
by  Mr.  Lodge,  to  whom  she  thus  expressed  her  appre- 
ciation of  it: — "It  is  quite  impossible  for  me  to  tell 
you  the  impression  I  have  received  from  that  most 
spiritual  music  of  Pergolesi's,  which  really  haunted 
me  the  whole  night.  How  much  I  have  to  thank  you 
for  introducing  me,  in  such  a  manner,  to  so  new  and 
glorious  a  world  of  musical  thought  and  feeling !" 

And  she  wrote  of  it  again,  some  time  after,  with  no 
less  deep  a  feeling.  "  I  am  learning  Pergolesi's  Stabat 
Mater,  which  realizes  all  that  I  could  dream  of  re- 
ligious music,  and  which  derives  additional  interest 
from  its  being  the  last  work  in  which  the  master-spirit 
breathed  forth  its  enthusiasm." 

The  state  of  her  health  had  long  obliged  her  to 
discontinue  the  practice  of  her  harp,  but  the  same 
friend  whose  recollections  have  been  already  quoted 
from,  recalls  a  singular  instance  of  sudden  and  tran- 
sient return  to  it.  "  I  remember,"  she  writes,  "  her 
stringing  and  tuning  it  one  day,  just  after  she  settled 
at  Waver  tree,  and  pouring  forth  a  full  tide  of  music 
all  without  notes,  and  with  as  much  facility  of  execu- 
tion as  if  she  had  had  the  instrument  daily  under  her 
hand  for  years.  Having  listened  and  wondered  for 
about  half  an  hour.  I  said,  '  Really.  Felicia,  it  seems 


MEMOIR    OF    MRS.  HEMANS.  183 

to  me  that  there  is  something  not  quite  canny  in  this ; 
so,  especially  as  it  is  beginning  to  be  twilight,  I  shall 
think  it  prudent  to  take  my  departure.'  The  harp, 
however,  required  more  physical  exertion  than  she 
could  well  afford,  and  it  soon  fell  into  neglect  again." 

The  "  brightly  associated  hours"  she  passed  with 
Mrs.  Lawrence,  have  been  alluded  to  by  Mrs.  He- 
mans,  in  the  dedication  to  the  National  Lyrics,  and 
recorded  by  "  her  friend,  and  the  sister  of  her  friend, 
Colonel  D'Aguilar,"  in  her  own  affectionate  Recollec- 
tions. The  "  Books  and  Flowers"  of  Wavertree  Hall, 
were  ever  fondly  identified  with  their  dear  mistress ; 
and  years  after  the  enjoyment  of  them  had  passed 
away  from  all  senses  but  memory,  she  who  was  then 
herself,  too,  "  passing  away,"  thus  tenderly  alluded  to 
them  from  her  sick  couch  at  Redesdale.  "  When  I 
write  to  you,  my  imagination  always  brightens,  and 
pleasant  thoughts  of  lovely  flowers,  and  dear  old 
books,  and  strains  of  antique  Italian  melody,  come 
floating  over  me,  as  Bacon  says,  the  rich  scents  go  *  to 
and  fro  like  music  in  the  air.'  ' 

The  reviving  influences  of  these  intellectual  enjoy- 
ments were,  however,  but  too  powerfully  counter- 
balanced by  the  constant  pressure  of  inward  sorrows, 
and  daily  anxieties.  The  experience  of  a  first  winter, 
moreover,  occasioned  Mrs.  Hemans  many  misgivings 
as  to  the  healthiness  of  her  new  residence ;  and  the 
illness  of  her  three  boys,  who  were  seized  with  the 
hooping  cough,  very  soon  after  their  establishment  at 
Wavertree,  was  anything  but  an  encouraging  inaugu- 
ration to  one  so  new  to  the  cares  of  household  man- 
agement. The  fatigue  she  endured  in  nursing  them, 


184  MEMOIR    OP   MRS.  HEMANS. 

was  far  more  than  she  was  equal  to ;  and  at  length  it 
proved,  by  way  of  climax,  that  she  had  actually 
caught  this  harassing  and  tedious  complaint  herself. 
Change  of  air  was,  of  course,  recommended;  and 
early  in  the  spring,  the  whole  party  of  invalids  re- 
paired for  a  short  time  to  Seacombe,  a  small  bathing- 
place  on  the  Cheshire  side  of  the  Mersey.  Here  they 
speedily  derived  all  the  benefits  anticipated  from  the 
sea  air ;  and  the  cheerful  tone  of  some  of  the  follow- 
ing extracts,  exhibits  once  more  the  naturally  elastic 
spirits  of  the  writer. 

"  You  will  rejoice  to  hear  that  we  are  going  on 
extremely  well,  and  are  able  to  be  out  a  great  deal. 
It  is  very  strange  to  me  to  be  here.  You  know  how 
rapidly  my  thoughts  and  feelings  chase  each  other, 
like  shadows  of  clouds  over  the  mountains ;  sometimes 
I  feel  quite  forlorn — at  others,  and  those,  I  think,  the 
most  frequent,  enjoying  with  child-like  pleasure,  the 
moving  picture  of  the  waters,  the  thousand  sails  and 
streamers  glancing  and  gleaming  past '  like  things  of 
life/  I  can  hardly  leave  this  animated  sea-beach, 
when  once  I  have  reached  it ;  and  at  this  distance 

'The  city's  voice  itself 
Is  soft  as  Solitude's.'  " 

"  The  boys  and  I  passed  a  most  comic  yesterday, 
sitting  in  a  sort  of  verdant  twilight,  as  we  were 
obliged  to  have  the  outworks  of  green  blinds  fastened 
over  the  windows,  to  keep  them  from  blowing  in. 
Then  the  wind  kept  lifting  the  knocker,  and  perform- 
ing such  human  knocks  all  day,  that  we  thought 
friends  must  be  coming  to  see  us  in  the  shape  of 


MEMOIR    OF    MRS.  HEMANS.  185 

meteoric  stones — for  certainly  in  no  other  could  they 
have  approached  us.  However,  Charles  cut  out  and 
painted  what  he  pleases  to  call  the  Weird  Sisters 
from  Macbeth  ;  and  Henry  set  to  music  '  The  Homes 
of  England,'  in  a  style  only  to  he  paralleled  by 
Charles's  painting ;  and  I  read  The  Robbers  ;  and  the 
knocks  at  the  door  were  thought  so  full  of  happy 
humour,  that  they  made  us  laugh  aux  eclats.9 


"  Last  Sunday  I  visited  a  very  interesting  scene — 
the  Mariners'  Church,  on  the  Liverpool  side  of  the 
water.  It  is  the  hulk  of  a  ship  of  war,  now  fitted 
up  for  divine  service,  which  is  performed  by  Mr. 
Scoresby.  The  earnest  attention  of  the  hardy,  wea- 
ther-beaten countenances,  all  steadfastly  fixed  upon 
the  preacher,  connected  with  the  images  of  past 
danger  by  flood  and  fire,  which  such  a  scene  would 
naturally  call  up  —  these  things  were  very  deeply 
impressive,  and  I  am  glad  to  have  borne  away  a 
recollection  of  them.  I  had  a  good  deal  of  conversa- 
tion with  Mr.  Scoresby,  in  the  vestry  (the  ci-devant 
powder-room,  I  suppose)  of  his  church. 

"  We  are  very  dissipated  indeed,  as  far  as  receiving 
visiters  can  make  us  so,  for  we  have  only  been  alone 
two  evenings  since  we  came  here.  Our  guests,  to 
be  sure,  are  obliged  to  depart  at  most  patriarchal 
hours,  having  to  set  off  with  the  speed  of  Harold 
Harefoot,  at' eight  o'clock  in  the  evening,  in  order  to 
be  in  time  for  the  steam-boat  which  is  to  convey 
them  back,  and  which  they  do  not  always  overtake. 
Charlie's  despatch,  which  I  have  left  open  for  your 
amusement,  will,  I  think,  rather  entertain  you.  His 


186  MEMOIR    OF    MRS.  HEMANS. 

consternation  on  seeing  the  advertisement  of  the  rival 
work  on  Dogs,  was  most  comic.  I  am  thankful  to  say 
that  he  looks  better,  and  can  now  take  exercise  again 
without  *  sick  knees.'  " 


"  I  really  know  nothing  that  so  tempts  one  into 
idleness  as  a  beach  like  this,  with  all  its  gay  pictures. 
I  am  sure  you  will  rejoice  that  I  am  able  to  derive 
so  much  pleasure  from  it;  and  to  be  out  a  good  deal 
in  the  open  air,  after  the  long  weary  confinement  of 
the  winter.  I  shall  quite  regret  leaving  Seacombe ; 
the  broad  river  between  me  and  Liverpool,  gives  me 
so  comfortable  a  feeling  of  security  in  the  morning ; 
and  in  the  evening,  those  whom  I  really  like  to  see 
think  nothing  of  crossing  it  to  visit  me. 

"  I  meet  with  so  many  offers  of  service,  that  the 
boys  sometimes  laugh  and  say,  '  Mamma,  you  are  like 
the  young  lady  who  could  not  dance  with  the  King 
of  Prussia,  because  she  was  engaged  to  the  Emperor 
of  Russia.' l  Yesterday  I  had  an  American  gentle- 
man here,  introduced  by  Mr.  Norton,  a  clergyman  of 
Boston,  very  mild  and  pleasing,  with  a  highly  intellec- 
tual countenance.  Do  you  know  he  had  never  seen 
a  primrose,  and  upon  my  desiring  Charles  to  bring  me 
some  from  the  hedges,  as  we  were  walking  down  to 
the  beach,  he  asked  if  that  was  the  flower  so  often 
celebrated  by  English  poets. 

"  Mr.  Blackwood  has  just  sent  me  a  delightful 
book  by  one  of  his  contributors,  Miss  Bowles;  it  is 

1  This  actually  happened  to  the  burgomaster's  daughter  at 
Berlin,  on  the  occasion  of  a  ball  given  by  the  municipal  authori- 
ties of  that  city,  to  the  Emperor  Alexander. 


MEMOIRS    OF    MRS.    HEMANS.  187 

published  without  her  name,  and  only  called  Chap- 
ters on  Churchyards.  Pray  read  the  work :  I  know 
you  will  enjoy  its  depth  of  feeling  and  playfulness  of 
wit I  must  return  home  next  Monday,  hav- 
ing now  been  here  a  month.  I  certainly  have  derived 
benefit  from  the  change,  and  Charlie,  about  whom  I 
was  getting  very  anxious,  is  wonderfully  improved; 
able  to  be  out  almost  all  day,  and  coming  in  with  a 
bright,  clear,  brown  complexion,  instead  of  the  sickly 
transparency  it  had  begun  to  assume." 

The  following  extracts,  from  letters  written  in  a 
far  different  and  deeper  tone,  will  need  no  comment, 
excepting  the  explanation  that  they  were  severally 
addressed  to  the  two  friends  to  whom  she  was  most 
wont  to  lay  open  her  heart,  in  all  its  strength  and 
weakness :  — 

"  You  speak  *  high  words'  to  me,  dear  friend !  I 
gratefully  feel  them,  and  own  their  power.  .  They 
remind  me  of  Wordsworth's  beautiful  expression — 

'To  teach  us  how  divine  a  thing 
A  woman  may  be  made.' 

And  I,  too,  have  high  views,  doubt  it  not.  My  very 
suffering  proves  it — for  how  much  of  this  is  occasioned 
by  quenchless  aspirations  after  intellectual  and  moral 
beauty,  never  to  be  found  on  earth !  they  seem  to 
sever  me  from  others,  and  make  my  lot  more  lonely 
than  life  has  made  it.  Can  you  think  that  any  fer- 
vent and  aspiring  mind  ever  passed  through  this  world 
without  suffering  from  that  void  which  has  been  the 
complaint  of  all  ?  '  Les  ames  dont  Pimagination  tient 


188  MEMOIRS    OF    MRS.    HEMANS. 

a  la  puissance  d'aimer  et  de  souffrir,  ne  sont-ils  pas 
les  bannis  d'une  autre  region  ?'  I  know  that  it  must 
be  so ;  that  nothing  earthly  can  fill  it,  and  that  it  can- 
not be  filled  with  the  infinite,  until  infinity  shall  have 
opened  upon  it :  —  for  these  intense  affections  are 
human :  they  were  given  us  to  meet  and  answer 
human  love ;  and  though  they  may  be  '  raised  and 
solemnized'  even  here,  yet  I  do  believe  that  it  is  only 
in  the  *  Better  Land'  they  ever  did,  or  will  approxi- 
mate to  what  is  divine.  Fear  not  any  danger  for  me 
in  the  adulation  which  surrounds  me.  A  moment's 
transient  entertainment — scarcely  even  that  at  times, 
is  the  utmost  effect  of  things  that  '  come  like  shadows, 
so  depart.'  Of  all  things,  never  may  I  become  that 
despicable  thing,  a  woman  living  upon  admiration  ! 
The  village  matron,  tidying  up  for  her  husband  and 
children  at  evening,  is  far,  far  more  enviable  and 
respectable." 


"Why  should  you  try  to  wean  yourself  from  me, 
my  dear  friend,  because  our  paths  are  divided,  and 
because  the  burthen  of  fragile  health  and  over-occu- 
pation laid  upon  me,  prevents  my  giving  more  time  in 
return  for  all  your  affectionate  anxiety.  Be  assured 
that,  in  the  midst  of  constant  excitement,  homage, 
ideal  wanderings,  and  real  cares,  which  so  strangely 
6  weave  the  warp  and  weave  the  woof '  of  my  '  mystic 
thread  of  life,'  my  heart  is  ever  true  to  the  past  —  a 
heart  of  home,  though  no  home  be  for  it  here ;  and 
never  to  forget  all  your  love  and  care  for  me  and  mine. 
So  think  of  me  still,  and  often  as  ever,  and  in  some 
points  (strangely  as  I  am  placed,  and  surrounded  with 


MEMOIR    OF    MRS.    HEMANS.  189 

things  that  might,  I  frankly  confess,  a  little  turn  my 
head,  but  for  the  deep  remembrances  of  my  heart) 
think  of  me  with  less  anxiety ;  for  I  do  feel,  notwith- 
standing all  this,  my  mind  in  a  more  healthful  state, 
and  more  open  to  happy  influences  than  it  has  been — 
the  fever  of  the  mental  nerves  is  subsiding." 


"  'Safe  in  the  grave,9 — what  deep  meaning  there  is 
in  those  words,  and  how  often  does  the  feeling  they 
convey  come  over  me  amidst  the  varied  excitements 
of  my  strange,  unconnected  life !  How  I  look  back 
upon  the  comparative  peace  and  repose  of  Bronwylfa 
and  Rhyllon — a  walk  in  the  hay-field — the  children 
playing  round  me — my  dear  mother  coming  to  call 
me  in  from  the  dew — and  you,  perhaps,  making  your 
appearance  just  in  the  '  gloaming,'  with  a  great  bunch 
of  flowers  in  your  kind  hand  !  How  have  these  things 
passed  away  from  me,  and  how  much  more  was  I 
formed  for  their  quiet  happiness,  than  for  the  weary 
part  of  femrm  celebre,  which  I  am  now  enacting  !  But 
my  heart  is  with  those  home  enjoyments,  and  there, 
however  tried,  excited,  and  wrung,  it  will  ever 
remain." 


In  the  month  of  July,  1829,  Mrs.  Hemans  was  pre- 
vailed upon  to  make  the  very  unwonted  exertion  of 
undertaking  a  journey,  or  rather  a  voyage,  to  Scot- 
land. To  this  she  had  a  thousand  inducements,  in  the 
attractive  invitations  continually  pressed  upon  her  by 
her  friends  and  admirers  in  that  hospitable  country, 
where  her  name  had  long  enjoyed  an  extraordinary 
degree  of  popularity,  mingled  with  strong  and  afibc- 


190  MEMOIR    OF    MRS.  HEMANS. 

tionate  personal  interest.  She  had,  for  some  time, 
numbered  amongst  her  most  valued  correspondents, 
Mr.  Hamilton,  the  accomplished  author  of  Cyril  Thorn- 
ton, then  residing  with  his  lady  at  Chiefswood,  near 
Abbotsford ;  and  the  visit  they  had  for  many  months 
been  kindly  urging  her  to  make  them,  with  the  pecu- 
liar allurements  it  held  out,  was  the  primary  object  of 
what,  to  a  person  of  her  usually  quiescent  habits,  was 
somewhat  of  an  adventurous  enterprise. 

"  Now,  I  am  going  to  excite  a  sensation,"  wrote 
she,  in  announcing  this  wonderful  project  to  her  friend 
at  St.  Asaph — "  I  am  actually  about  to  visit  Scotland 
— going  to  Mr.  Hamilton's  at  Chiefswood.  Charles 
has  been  longing  to  communicate  the  important  intel- 
ligence, as  he  and  Henry  are  to  accompany  me ;  but 
I  could  not  possibly  afford  the  pleasure  of  the  surprise 
to  any  one  but  myself.  And  you  are  about  as  much 
surprised  at  this  moment,  I  am  sure,  as  if  I  had  writ- 
ten you  word  I  was  going  to  the  North  Pole.  The 
cause  of  this  marvellous  exertion  on  my  part,  is,  that 
Mr.  and  Mrs.  Hamilton  are  going  to  Italy  in  the 
autumn,  and  are  very  anxious  that  I  should  visit  Scot- 
land before  they  set  out.  Altogether,  I  thought  the 
occasion  quite  worthy  of  rousing  my  energies." 

In  her  first  letter  from  Chiefswood,  Mrs.  Hemans 
speaks  of  having  had  a  good  deal  of  illness  on  the 
road,  visiting  her  chiefly  in  the  form  of  faintness  and 
violent  beating  of  the  heart ;  "  but  I  do  not  feel,"  she 
continues,  "  as  if  my  general  health  would  be  at  all 
the  worse  for  the  journey,  as  I  have  had  very  refresh- 
ing sleep  since  I  reached  this  still  and  lovely  place." 

The  next  affords  a  proof  of  that  rapid  accession  of 


MEMOIR    OF    MRS.    HEMANS.  191 

vigour  and  energy,  which,  under  happy  and  kindly 
influences,  was  yet  a  characteristic  of  her  buoyant 
temperament. 

"  You  will  be  pleased  to  think  of  me,  as  1  now  am, 
in  constant,  almost  daily,  intercourse  with  Sir  Walter 
Scott,  who  has  greeted  me  to  this  mountain  land  in 
the  kindest  manner,  and  with  whom  I  talk  freely  and 
happily,  as  to  an  old  familiar  friend.  I  have  taken 
several  long  walks  with  him  over  moor  and  brae,  and 
it  is  indeed  delightful  to  see  him  thus,  and  to  hear  him 
pour  forth,  from  the  fulness  of  his  rich  mind  and  peo- 
pled memory,  song,  and  legend,  and  tale  of  old,  until 
I  could  almost  fancy  I  heard  the  gathering-cry  of 
some  chieftain  of  the  hills,  so  completely  does  his  spirit 
carry  me  back  to  the.  days  of  the  slogan  and  the  fire- 
cross.  The  other  day,  he  most  kindly  made  a  party 
to  take  me  to  the  banks  of  Yarrow,  about  ten  miles 
from  hence.  I  went  with  him  in  an  open  carriage. 
We  forded  Ettrick  river,  passed  Carterhaugh  (the 
scene  of  the  wild  fairy  legend  of  '  Tamo'  Linn'),  and 
many  a  cairn  and  field  of  old  combat,  the  heroes  of 
which  seemed  to  start  up  before  me,  in  answer  to  the 
'  mighty  master's'  voice,  which  related  their  deeds  as 
we  went  by.  And  he  is,  indeed,  a  fitting  narrator: 
his  whole  countenance  —  the  predominant  expression 
of  which  is  generally  a  sort  of  arch  benevolence — 
changes  at  the  slightest  allusion  to  any  'bold  emprize.' 
It  is 

'As  the  stream  late  conceal'd 
By  the  fringe  of  its  willows, 

When  it  flashes,  reveal'd 
In  the  light  of  its  billows  ;* 

or  like  the  war-horse  at  the  sound  of  the  trumpet 


192  MEMOIR    OF    MRS.  HEMANS. 

Sometimes,  in  reciting  a  verse  of  old  martial  song,  he 
will  suddenly  spring  up,  and  one  feels  ready  to  ex- 
claim— 

'  Charge,  Chester,  charge !  —  on,  Stanley,  on  !' 

so  completely  is  the  electric  chain  struck  by  his  own 
high  emotion.  But  Yarrow !  beautiful  Yarrow !  we 
wound  along  its  banks,  through  some  stately  ground 
belonging  to  the  Duke  of  Buccleuch ;  and  was  it  not 
like  a  dream  to  be  walking  there  with  Sir  Walter 
Scott  by  my  side,  reciting,  every  now  and  then,  some 
verse  of  the  fine  old  ballad?  We  visited  Newark 
Tower,  and  returned  to  Abbotsford  through  the  Tweed. 
The  rest  of  the  day  was  passed  at  that  glorious  place, 
the  hall  of  which,  in  particular,  is  a  scene  to  dream 
of,  with  the  rich,  purple  light  streaming  in  through  its 
coloured  windows,  and  mantling  its  stately  suits  of 
armour  and  heraldic  blazonries.  We  had  a  great  deal 
of  music  in  the  evening — Sir  Walter  is  particularly 
fond  of  national  airs  —  and  I  played  many  of  my 
waltzes,  and  mazurkas,  and  Spanish  melodies,  for 
which  I  wish  you  could  have  heard  how  kindly  and 
gracefully  he  thanked  me.1  I  am  fortunate  in  seeing 
him,  as  I  do,  surrounded  only  by  his  children  and 
grandchildren,  wandering  through  his  own  woods, 
taking  the  fresh  delight  of  an  uriquenchably  youthful 
spirit  in  the  creations  of  his  own  hands.  It  is  all  so 
healthful  to  see  and  feel !  The  boys,  too,  are  quite  at 
home  with  him,  and  he  sometimes  sings  to  Charlie — 

1  His  words,  treasured  up  by  her  boys,  were, — "  I  should  say 
you  had  too  many  gifts,  Mrs.  Hemans,  were  they  not  all  made  to 
give  pleasure  to  those  around  you." 


MEMOIR    OF    MRS.  HEMANS.  193 

•Charlie  is  my  darling,  my  darling,  my  darling, 
Charlie  is  my  darling,  the  young  Chevalier.'1 

"  We  are  going  to  Abbotsford  on  Saturday,  to  pass 
some  days,  and  then  I  return  to  Edinburgh. 
******* 

"I  have  said  nothing  of  the  Dominie — even  the 
original  Dominie  Sampson,  with  whom  I  have  lately 
become  acquainted — nor  of  my  American  friends,  the 
Wares,  who  dined  at  Chiefswood  the  other  day  (I  hav- 
ing been  introduced  to  Mrs.  Ware  on  the  very  pinna- 
cle of  Melrose  Abbey,  by  moonlight)  —  nor  of  Mr. 
Hamilton  himself,  whose  mind  developes  so  delightfully 
— but  all  these  will  be  amongst  the  bright  recollec- 
tions I  shall  bring  away  with  me." 

A  few  days  later  Mrs.  Hemans  wrote : — "I  have 
now  had  the  gratification  of  seeing  Sir  Walter  in 

1  One  day,  when  he  had  taken  them  both  out  to  walk  with  him, 
they  were  so  emboldened  by  his  condescending  good-nature,  that 
one  of  them,  thinking  it  an  excellent  opportunity  to  settle  a  ques- 
tion which  he  had  often  heard  speculated  upon  at  home,  daringly 
inquired — "  Sir  Walter,  what  did  you  mean  by  those  two  lines 
in  The  Lady  of  the  Lake  — 

'Fox-glove  and  nightshade,  side  by  side, 
Emblems  of  punishment  and  pride  V 

Mamma  has  always  been  dying  to  know,  and  aunt  Harriet  has 
been  puzzling  about  it  all  her  life." 

"  Why,  my  dear  little  fellow,"  answered  the  benignant  bard, 
"  I  can  only  hdpe  when  you  write  poetry,  that  you  will  make 
much  better  sense  of  it ;  for  those  emblems,  in  fact,  are  very  bad 
ones.  I  merely  chose  the  fox-glove  to  exemplify  pride,  from  its 
being  so  tall  and  stately ;  and  nightshade,  you  know,  is  poisonous, 
and  so  might  be  made  the  means  of  punishment ;  but  I  believe 
hemlock  would  have  been  more  to  the  purpose." 

VOL.  I. 17 


194  MEMOIR    OF    MRS.  HEMANS. 

every  point  of  view  I  could  desire  :  we  had  one  of  the 
French  princes  here  yesterday,  with  his  suite — the 
Due  de  Chartres,  son  of  the  Due  d'Orleans,  and  there 
was  naturally  some  little  excitement  diffused  through 
the  household  hy  the  arrival  of  a  royal  guest.  Sir 
Walter  was,  however,  exactly  the  same,  in  his  own 
manly  simplicity- — kind,  courteous,  unaffected — 'his 
foot  upon  his  native  heath  ;'  and  his  attention  even 
to  Henry  and  Charles,  and  their  little  indulgencies, 
considerate  and  watchful  as  ever.  I  must  say  a  few 
words  of  the  duke,  who  is  a  very  elegant  young  man, 
possessing  a  finished  and  really  noble  grace  of  man- 
ner, which  conveys  at  once  the  idea  of  Sir  Philip  Sid- 
ney's high  thoughts,  seated  '  in  a  heart  of  courtesy/ 
and  which  one  likes  to  consider  as  an  appanage  of 
royal  blood.  I  was  a  little  nervous  when  Sir  Walter 
handed  me  to  the  piano,  on  which  I  was  the  sole  per- 
former, for  the  delectation  of  the  courtly  party." 

One  of  the  things  which  particularly  struck  her 
imagination,  amongst  the  thousand  relics  at  Abbots- 
ford,  was  the  "  sad,  fearful  picture  of  Queen  Mary 
in  the  dining-room." l  And  "  Oh !  the  bright  swords  !" 
— she  breaks  forth  in  one  of  her  letters — "  I  must  not 
forget  to  tell  you  how  I  sat,  like  Minna  in  The  Pirate 
(though  she  stood  or  moved,  I  believe),  the  very  '  queen 
of  swords/  I  have  the  strongest  love  for  the  flash  of 
glittering  steel — and  Sir  Walter  brought  out  I  know 
not  how  many  gallant  blades  to  show  me ;  one  which 

1  Fearful,  indeed — representing  her  head  in  a  charger,  like 
John  the  Baptist's ;  and  painted  the  day  after  her  execution  av 
Fotheringay,  by  Amias  Canrood. 


MEMOIR    OF    MRS.  HEMANS.  195 

had  fought  at  Killiecrankie,  and  one  which  had 
belonged  to  the  young  Prince  Henry,  James  the  First's 
son,  and  one  which  looked  of  as  noble  race  and  tem- 
per as  that  with  which  Cceur  de  Lion  severed  the 
block  of  steel  in  Saladin's  tent." 

This  visit  to  Abbotsford  was  a  bright  passage  in  her 
life,  never  referred  to  without  a  rekindling  of  chival- 
rous and  affectionate  enthusiasm.  She  had  contem- 
plated recording  her  recollections  of  it  in  the  little 
volume  of  prose  sketches  already  alluded  to,  as  one 
of  the  many  projects  she  was  not  permitted  to  accom- 
plish. With  this  view,  she  wrote  down  the  slight 
notes  which  follow  (and  which  have  never  been  hith- 
erto in  any  way  made  use  of),  intending  to  amplify 
them  at  some  future  opportunity. 

"July,  1829.  — I  walked  with  Sir  Walter  Scott 
through  the  Rhymour's  Glen.  He  showed  me  the 
site  of  a  little  hamlet,  which  had  been  deserted  on 
account  of  the  supposed  visits  of  a  spirit.  He  de- 
scribed to  me  some  extraordinary  cavern  scenes  he 
had  explored  in  his  voyage  round  the  northern  coasts 
and  isles  of  Scotland ;  mentioned  his  having  sometimes 
heard  the  low,  rolling  murmur  of  storms  in  the  air 
along  those  dreary  coasts,  for  hours  before  the  burst- 
ing of  the  tempest ;  told  me  of  a  friend  of  his,  a  man 
of  by  no  means  an  imaginative  mind,  who  had  heard 
the  Wild  Huntsman  in  the  air  at  night,  at  Valen- 
ciennes. So  persuaded  was  this  gentleman  that  a 
real  chase  was  sweeping  past  him  through  the  streets, 
that  he  turned  aside  into  the  porch  of  a  church  in 
order  to  make  way  for  it.  Nothing,  however,  was 
visible ;  and  he  at  last  became  affected  with  feelings 


196  MEMOIR    OF    MRS.  HEMANS. 

of  supernatural  fear.  On  mentioning  the  circum- 
stance to  the  people  with  whom  he  lodged,  they  were 
much  awe-struck,  and  told  him  it  was  fortunate  that, 
heretic  as  he  was,  he  had  sheltered  within  the  shadow 
of  a  Catholic  church.  Sir  Walter  repeated,  with 
much  animation,  part  of  the  Spanish  ballad  of  *  Dra- 
gut' — (see  Lockhart's  Collection) — 

Row,  row,  my  slaves,  quoth  Dragut,'  &c. 

"  He  gave  me  a  thrilling  description  of  a  scene 
which  had  been  witnessed  by  a  friend  of  his  at 
Ehrenbreitstein  —  the  German  army  of  liberators 
crossing  the  Rhine  after  their  victories.  Upon  the 
first  gleam  of  the  noble  river,  they  burst  forth  into 
the  song  of  '  Am  Rhein,  am  Rhein !'  They  were  two 
days  crossing,  during  which  the  rock  and  the  castle 
rang  out  'to  the  peal  of  this  gallant  strain ;  and  even 
the  Cossacks,  as  they  passed  over,  caught  the  national 
enthusiasm,  and,  with  the  clash,  and  clang,  and  the 
roar  of  their  stormy  war-music,  swelled  out  the 
chorus  of  '  Am  Rhein,  am  Rhein !' l 

1  This  anecdote  (on  which  was  founded  her  own  "  Rhine 
Song"),  and  the  look  and  tone  with  which  it  was  related,  made 
an  impression  on  her  memory  which  nothing  could  efface.  The 
very  name  of  the  "  Father  Rhine,"  the  "  exulting  and  abounding 
river"  (how  often  would  she  quote  that  magnificent  line  of  Lord 
Byron's !)  had  always  worked  upon  her  like  a  spell,  conjuring  up 
a  thousand  visions  of  romance  and  beauty ;  and  Haydn's  inspir- 
ing Rheinweinlied,  with  its  fine,  rich  tide  of  flowing  harmony, 
was  one  of  the  airs  she  most  delighted  in.  "  You  are  quite 
right,"  she  wrote  to  a  friend  who  had  echoed  her  enthusiasm, 
"  it  was  the  description  of  that  noble  Rhine  scene  which  inte- 
rested me  more  than  any  part  of  Sir  Walter's  conversation ;  and 


MEMOIR    OF    MRS.  HEMANS.  197 

"  I  was  much  struck  with  a  spot,  where  we  paused 
a  few  moments,  and  where  Huntley  burn  —  the  little 
stream  running  through  the  Rhymour's  Glen  —  falls 
down  a  steep  bank  into  a  sort  of  natural  basin,  over- 
hung with  mountain  ash.  Sir  Walter  said  he  liked 
to  associate  the  names  of  his  friends  with  objects  of 
interest  in  natural  scenery,  and,  turning  to  an  old 
countryman  who  walked  with  us,  desired  him  to  make 
a  seat  there,  and  to  call  it  by  my  name.  I  repeated 
to  him  the  image  employed  by  a  Welsh  poet  (Aneurin) 
to  describe  the  advance  of  an  army — '  the  sound  of 
their  march  was  like  the  surly  laughter  of  ocean 
before  a  storm.'  He  seemed  much  impressed  by  it. 
He  told  me  that  Cattraeth's  Vale,  the  scene  of  Aneu- 
rin's  poem,  was  supposed  to  be  in  the  Ettrick  country. 

"  A  few  days  afterwards,  I  walked  with  him  through 
the  Hexel's  Cleugh  ;*a  name  which  he  derives  from 
the  German  Hexe,  a  witch.  He  repeated  some  curi- 
ous anecdotes  of  animals,  of  the  habits  of  which  he  is 
very  observant.  He  mentioned  that  sheep  always 
choose  for  their  sleeping-place  in  the  pasture,  a  quar- 
ter analogous  to  the  one  whence  they  came;  for 
instance,  that  sheep  from  a  western  country  will 
always  sleep  towards  the  west,  and  so  on.  He  spoke 
of  dogs,  and  of  the  poor  Indian,  who  thinks — 

*  Admitted  to  that  equal  sky, 
His  faithful  dog  shall  bear  him  company!' 

He  laughed,  and  said,  '  What  a  train  I  should  have 
in  the  other  world !  there  would  be  Maida  and  Nim- 

I  wished  more  that  you  could  have  heard  it  than  all  the  high 
legends  and  solemn  scenes  of  which  we  spoke  that  day." 

17* 


198  MEMOIR    OP    MRS.  HEMANS. 

rod,  and  Spicy  and  Ginger ;  '  black  spirits  and  white, 
blue  spirits  and  grey.'  He  told  me  that  so  completely 
did  his  occasional  songs  and  pieces  of  poetry  pass 
from  his  mind,  that  one  day,  hearing  a  lady  sing, 
*  Farewell,  farewell,  the  voice  you  hear'  (from  The 
Pirate),  he  admired  the  music  exceedingly,  and,  after 
bestowing  due  praise  upon  it,  bethought  himself,  to 
the  great  amusement  of  the  company,  of  also  highly 
complimenting  the  words.  His  love  of  music  appears 
to  me  entirely  the  result  of  association ;  he  is  much 
interested  in  any  air  which  possesses  a  national  cha- 
racter, or  has  a  story,  or  strong  feeling  connected 
with  it.  I  played  for  him  *O  Richard,  O  mon  Roi!' 
—  the  <  Rhine  Song'  —  the  '  Tragala  Perro'  of  the 
Spanish  Liberals  —  a  Swiss  Ranz  des  Vaches  —  and 
other  music  of  similar  character,  to  which  he  listened 
with  earnest  attention ;  but  I  should  not  say  he  had 
naturally  any  strong  feeling  of  music,  merely  as  such, 
though  he  describes,  with  thrilling  power,  its  effects 
in  peculiar  scenes  and  hours  of  public  excitement.1 
He  took  me  to  see  the  Yarrow.  On  our  way,  he 
spoke  with  much  interest  and  respect  of  the  high  and 
proud  feeling  of  ancestry  sometimes  manifested  by 
peasant  men ;  and  told  an  affecting  story  of  two  bro- 
thers, descended  from  some  noble  family,  but  so  re- 
duced in  circumstances  as  to  be  labouring  for  daily 
bread.  One  of  these  brothers  died,  and  a  gentleman, 

1  Sir  Walter's  own  admissions  on  this  head  went  still  further ; 
for,  in  a  letter  written  in  1828,  to  Mrs.  Hemans's  sister,  he  com- 
pared himself  to  Jeremy  in  Love  for  Love  —  "  having  a  reason- 
able good  ear  for  a  jig,  though  solos  and  sonatas  give  me  the 
spleen." 


MEMOIR    OF    MRS.  HEMANS.  199 

much  interested  in  them,  said  to  the  survivor  — 6  You 
are,  I  know,  obliged  to  struggle  for  your  maintenance ; 
leave  the  care  of  your  brother's  funeral  to  me.' — '  No, 
sir,'  was  the  answer ;  *  I  feel  your  kindness  gratefully ; 

but  we  are  of  the  house  of ,  and,  though  poor 

and  forlorn,  my  brother  must  sleep  amongst  his  kin- 
dred, and  it  must  be  at  the  charge  of  their  last 
descendant  that  he  is  conveyed  there.'  Sir  Walter 
described  an  amusing  rencontre  between  himself  and 
PlatofF.  They  met  on  the  Boulevards  at  Paris ;  Pla- 
toff  was  riding,  attended  by  several  Cossacks ;  he  im- 
mediately dismounted,  ran  up  to  Sir  Walter,  threw 
his  arms  round  his  neck,  and  kissed  him. 

"  On  the  banks  of  Yarrow,  I  was  shown  the  house 
where  Mungo  Park  was  born.  Sir  Walter,  in  walk- 
ing along  the  stream,  one  day  came  suddenly  upon 
Park,  who  was  employed,  and  apparently  absorbed, 
in  throwing  stones  into  the  water,  and  watching  the 
bubbles  that  followed  their  descent.  6  Park,  what  is 
it  that  thus  engages  your  attention  ?'  asked  Sir  Walter. 
— '  I  was  thinking,'  was  the  reply,  *  how  often  I  had 
thus  tried  to  sound  the  rivers  in  Africa,  by  calculating 
how  long  a  time  had  elapsed  before  the  bubbles  rose 
to  the  surface/ — (  Then,'  said  Scott, '  I  know  you  think 
of  returning  to  Africa.' — '  I  do,  indeed,'  was  the  an- 
swer ;  '  but  it  is  yet  a  secret.'  We  saw  Park's  name, 
inscribed  by  himself,  in  Newark  tower,  to  which  we 
ascended,  after  winding  along  the  Yarrow  through 
the  beautiful  grounds  of  the  Duke  of  Buccleuch.1 

1  Here,  as  «•  little  Charlie"  recollects,  on  seeing  two  tourists 
make  a  precipitate  retreat  when  the  Abbotsford  party  approached 


200  MEMOIR    OF    MRS*  HEMANS. 

"  On  the  way  back,  we  talked  a  good  deal  of  trees. 
I  asked  Sir  Walter  if  he  had  not  observed  that  every 
tree  gives  out  its  own  peculiar  sound  to  the  wind.  He 
said  he  had,  and  suggested  to  me  that  something  might 
be  done  by  the  union  of  music  and  poetry,  to  imitate 
those  voices  of  trees,  giving  a  different  measure  and 
style  to  the  oak,  the  pine,  the  willow,  &c.  He  men- 
tioned a  Highland  air  of  somewhat  similar  character, 
called  <  The  Notes  of  the  Sea-birds.' 

"  Lord  Napier,  at  dinner,  made  some  observations 
upon  a  recent  history  of  the  Peninsular  War,  in  which 
the  defence  of  Saragossu  had  been  spoken  of  as  a  vain 
and  lavish  waste  of  life.  I  was  delighted  with  the 
kindling  animation  of  Sir  Walter's  look  and  tone,  as 
he  replied — "  Never  let  me  hear  that  brave  blood  has 
been  shed  in  vainl  It  sends  a  roaring  voice  down 
through  all  time !"  In  the  evening  we  had  music. 
Not  being  able  to  sing,  I  read  to  him  the  words  of  a 
Bearnaise  song,  on  the  captivity  of  Louis  XVI.  and 
Marie  Antoinette  in  the  Temple ;  though  simple  even 
to  homeliness,  they  affected  him  to  tears,  and  he  beg- 
ged me  not  to  finish  them.1  I  think  the  feeling  of  loy- 

the  tower,  Sir  Walter  said,  smiling — "  Ah  !  Mrs.  Hemans,  they 
little  know  what  two  Lions  they  are  running  away  from !" 

1FThis  song  will  -now,  perhaps,  be  read  with  interest.  It  is 
called  "  La  Complainte  Bearnaise," 

1. 

"Un  Troubadour  Bearnais, 
Les  yeux  inondes  de  larmes,  , 

A  ses  montagnards  chantait 
Ce  refrain,  source  d'alarmes, — 
Louis,  le  fils  d'Henri, 
Est  prisonnier  dans  Paris. 


MEMOIR    OF    MRS.  HEMANS.  201 

ally — chivalrous  loyalty — such  as  must  have  existed 
amongst  the  Paladins  and  preux  chevaliers  of  old — 
seems  the  truest  and  deepest  in  his  character;  he 

2. 

"II  a  vu  couler  le  sang 

De  cette  garde  fidele 

Qui  vient  donner  en  mourant 

Aux  Francais  un  beau  modele  — 

Mais  Louis,  le  fils  d'Henri, 

Est  prisonnier  dans  Paris. 

3. 
"II  a  tremble  pour  les  jours 

De  sa  compagne  cherie, 

Qui  n'a  trouvee  de  resource 

Que  dans  sa  propre  energie; 

Elle  salt  Louis,  fils  d'Henri, 

Dans  les  prisons  de  Paris. 

4. 
"Quel  crime  done  ont-ils  commis, 

Pour  etre  enchaines  de  m£me? 

Du  peuple  ils  sont  amis; 

Le  peuple  veut-il  qu'on  1'aime, 

Quand  il  met  le  fils  d'Henri, 

Dans  les  prisons  de  Paris] 

5. 
"  Le  Dauphin,  ce  fils  cheri, 

Qui  fait  seul  notre  esperance, 

De  pleurs  sera  done  nourri! 

Le  berceau  qu'on  donne  en  France, 

,Aux  fils  de  notre  Henri, 

Est  la  prison  de  Paris. 

6. 
** Francais,  trop  ingrats  Francois! 

Rendez  au  Roi  sa  compagne! 

C'est  1'amour  des  Bearnais, 

C'est  1'enfant  de  la  montagne  — 


202  MEMOIR    OP    MRS.  HEMANS. 

gives  me  the  idea  of  being  born  an  age  too  late  for  its 
free  scope.  This  day  has  been — I  was  going  to  say, 
one  of  the  happiest,  but  I  am  too  isolated  a  being  to 
use  that  word — at  least,  one  of  the  pleasantest  and 
most  cheerfully  exciting  of  my  life.  I  shall  think 
again  and  again  of  that  walk  under  the  old  solemn 
trees  that  hang  over  the  mountain-stream  of  Yarrow, 
with  Sir  Walter  Scott  beside  me  ;  his  voice  frequently 
breaking  out,  as  if  half  unconsciously,  into  some  verse 
of  the  antique  ballads,  which  he  repeats  with  a  deep 
and  homely  pathos.  One  stanza,  in  particular,  will 
linger  in  my  memory  like  music. 

'His  mother  through  the  window  look'd, 
With  all  the  longing  of  a  mother, 
His  little  sister,  weeping,  walk'd 
The  greenwood  path  to  find  her  brother. 

Le  bonheur  qu'  avait  Henri 
Nous  Tassurons  a  Louis. 

7. 

"Au  pied  de  ce  monument, 
Ou  le  bon  Henri  respire, 
Pourquoi  Tairain  foudroyant  ?  * 
On  veut  que  Henri  conspire 
Lui-meme  contre  ses  fils, 
Dans  les  prisons  de  Paris. 

S. 

"  Seches  tes  pleurs,  O  Troubadour  !— 
Bearnais,  sechez  vos  larmes  — 
Entraines  par  leur  amour, 
Tous  les  Fran^ais  courent  aux  armes, 
Pour  tirer  le  fils  d'Henri 
De  sa  prison  a  Paris." 
1  Canon  place  au  pied  du  monument  d'Henri  Quatre  a  Paris. 


MEMOIR    OF    MRS.  HEMANS.  203 

They  sought  him  east,  they  sought  him  west, 
They  sought  him  far  with  moan  and  sorrow  — 
They  only  saw  the  cloud  of  night, 
They  only  heard  the  roar  of  Yarrow  !' 

"  Before  we  retired  for  the  night,  he  took  me  into 
the  hall,  and  showed  me  the  spot  where  the  imagined 
form  of  Byron  had  stood  before  him.  This  hall,  with 
the  rich  gloom  shed  by  its  deeply-coloured  windows, 
and  with  its  antique  suits  of  armour,  and  inscriptions, 
all  breathing  of '  the  olden  time/  is  truly  a  fitting  scene 
for  the  appearance  of  so  stately  a  shadow. 

"  The  next  morning  I  left  Abbotsford;  and  who  can 
leave  a  spot  so  brightened  and  animated  by  the  life, 
the  happy  life  of  genius,  without  regret  I  I  shall  not 
forget  the  kindness  of  Sir  Walter's  farewell — so  frank, 
and  simple,  and  heartfelt,  as  he  said  to  me — (  There 
are  same  whom  we  meet,  and  should  like  ever  after 
to  claim  as  kith  and  kin ;  and  you  are  one  of  those.' 
It  is  delightful  to  take  away  with  me  so  unmingled  an 
impression  of  what  I  may  now  call  almost  affectionate 
admiration." 

Amongst  the  numerous  friends  Mrs.  Hemans  was 
fortunate  enough  to  possess  in  Scotland,  there  was 
one  to  whom  she  was  linked  by  so  peculiar  a  bond 
of  union,  and  whose  unwearied  kindness  is  so  precious 
an  inheritance  to  her  children,  that  it  is  hoped  the 
owner  of  a  name  so  dear  to  them  (though  it  be  a  part 
of  her  nature  to  shrink  from  publicity),  will  forgive  its 
being  introduced  into  these  pages. 

This  invaluable  friend  was  Lady  Wedderburn,1  the 

1  The  Lady  of  Sir  David  Wedderburn,  Bart.,  and  sister  of  the 
late  Visciountess  Hampden.  The  monument  on  which  the  lines 
are  inscribed,  is  at  Glynde,  in  Sussex,  near  tord  Hampden's  seat. 


204  MEMOIR   OF   MRS.  HEMANS. 

mother  of  those  "  two  brothers,  a  child  and  a  youth/5 
for  whose  monument  Mrs.  Hemans  had  written  an 
inscription,  which,  with  its  simple  pathos,  has  doubt- 
less sunk  deep  into  the  heart  of  many  a  mourner,  as 
well  as  of  many  a  yet  rejoicing  parent,  there  called 
upon  to  remember  that  for  them,  too, 

"Speaks  the  grave, 

Where  God  hath  sealed  the  fount  of  hope  He  gave." 

Into  the  gentle  heart,  which  has  found  relief  for 
its  own  sorrows  in  soothing  the  griefs  and  promoting 
the  enjoyments  of  others,  the  author  of  this  sacred 
tribute  was  taken  with  a  warmth  and  loving-kindness 
which  extended  its  genial  influence  to  all  belonging  to 
her;  and  during  their  stay  in  Edinburgh,  whither 
they  proceeded  from  Abbotsford,  Mrs.  Hemans  and 
her  children  were  cherished  with  a  true  home  welcome 
at  the  house  of  Sir  David  Wedderburn.  Her  impres- 
sions of  that  queen-like  city,  and  the  generous  cordi- 
ality of  her  reception  amongst  some  of  the  most  dis- 
tinguished of  its  inhabitants,  will  best  appear  in  her 
own  words. 

"  I  am  quite  delighted  with  Edinburgh  —  it  is  a 
gallant  city  to  behold,  full  of  picture  at  every  turn 
of  the  streets;  and  I  have  been  greeted  with  such 
attention  here,  that  truly  I  might  begin  to  fancy  my- 
self a  queen  in  good  earnest,  if  I  remained  much 
longer.  I  never  can  forget  the  cordial  kindness  I  have 
received,  and  all  the  impressions  I  shall  carry  hence 
will  be  bright  and  pleasant.  I  am  very  glad  to  have 
seen  it  at  this  time  of  the  year,  when  it  was  repre- 
sented to  me  as  a  perfect  desert.  A  person  must  be 


MEMOIR    OF    MRS.  HEMANS.  205 

of  most  gregarious  habits  indeed,  who  cannot  find 
more  than  enough  of  society  even  in  these  desolate 
months.  I  have  made  some  very  interesting  acquaint- 
ance— Mrs.  Grant  of  Laggan,  Captain  Basil  Hall,  and, 
above  all,  Mr.  Jeffrey,  at  whose  house  in  the  country 
I  dined  yesterday.  His  conversation  is  such  mental 
champagne  as  I  never  tasted  before — rich,  full  of 
imagery,  playful,  energetic ;  certainly  one  of  the  most 
delightful  days  I  have  passed  in  Scotland,  has  been 
the  one  at  Craig  Crook,  as  his  seat  is  called.  To-day 
we  are  going  to  dine  with  Mrs.  Grant.  The  boys  are 
well,  and  are  delighted  to  see  their  heroine  '  mamma' 
so  kindly  welcomed  by  every  one." 

The  next  extract  is  from  a  letter  to  her  son  Claude, 
who  was  staying,  during  her  absence,  at  Wavertree 
Lodge.  "  1  have  just  returned  from  visiting  Edinburgh 
Castle  (the  citadel,  you  know,  of  this  noble  town),  and 
looking  at  the  Scottish  regalia,  which  are  kept  in  one 
of  the  rooms.  There  is  something  impressive  in  the 
sight  of  a  crown,  sword,  and  sceptre,  which  have  been 
the  object  of  so  many  gallant  struggles ;  and  I  could 
have  looked  at  them  long  with  increasing  interest. 
They  are  shown  by  the  light  of  lamps,  though  at  noon- 
day, in  a  small  room,  hung  with  dark  crimson.  Last 
Sunday  I  attended  the  preaching  of  Mr.  Alison  :  he 
has  a  countenance  of  most  venerable  beauty,  a  deep 
mellow  voice,  and  an  earnest  gentleness  of  manner, 
which  goes  at  once  to  the  heart,  and  wins  a  feeling  of 
almost  filial  affection.  After  the  service  was  ended, 
he  came  forward  very  kindly  to  be  introduced  to  me, 
and  took  me,  with  Charles  and  Henry,  into  the  vestry- 
room,  where  I  had  a  good  deal  of  conversation  with 

VOL.  I. 18 


206  MEMOIR    OP    MRS.  HEMANS. 

him.  He  gave  me  an  account  of  his  having  seen  the 
hody  of  James  V.  (father  to  Mary  Queen  of  Scots), 
several  years  ago,  in  such  perfect  preservation,  that 
the  resemblance  of  the  features  to  the  portraits  of  that 
king,  was  quite  distinct. 

"  Nothing  in  Edinburgh  delights  me  so  much  as 
the  Calton  Hill,  which  I  visit  whenever  I  have  an 
opportunity,  and  on  which  stands  the  unfinished  Par- 
thenon, with  its  graceful  pillars.  The  view  from  the 
summit,  of  the  strange  gloomy  Old  Town,  '  piled  deep 
and  massy,  close  and  high,'  and  all  the  classic  build- 
ings and  columns  of  the  New,  is  quite  unparalleled. 
All  this,  too,  lies  set  in  a  frame  of  hills  of  the  boldest 
outline.  I  have  not  yet  felt  strong  enough  to  ascend 
Arthur's  Seat,  and  almost  fear  that  I  must  not  think 
of  it,  as  I  have  violent  palpitations  of  the  heart  when 
over  fatigued.  Charlie  goes  out  every  morning,  to 
draw  from  nature,  as  he  calls  it,  some  of  the  fine  pub- 
lic buildings  of  Edinburgh,  and  has  now  quite  a  series 
of  these  sketches,  which  I  am  sure  you  will  like  to  see." 

"  I  have  just  returned  from  paying  the  visit  I  men- 
tioned to  Mr.  Mackenzie,  the  '  Man  of  Feeling,'  and 
have  been  exceedingly  interested.  He  is  now  very 
infirm,  and  his  powers  of  mind  are  often  much  affected 
by  the  fitfulness  of  nervous  indisposition,  so  that  his 
daughter,  who  introduced  me  to  his  sitting-room,  said  ' 
very  mournfully  as  we  entered,  *  You  will  see  but  the 
wreck  of  my  father/  However,  on  my  making  some 
allusion,  after  his  first  kind  and  gentle  reception  of  me, 
to  the  '  men  of  other  times,'  with  whom  he  had  lived 
in  such  brilliant  association,  it  was  really  like  the 
effect  produced  on  the  *  Last  Minstrel' — 


MEMOIR    OF    MRS.  HEMANS.  207 

*  when  he  caught  the  measure  wild  ; 

The  old  man  raised  his  face,  and  smiled, 
And  lighted  up  his  faded  eye;' 

for  he  became  immediately  excited,  and  all  his  fur- 
rowed countenance  seemed  kindling  with  recollections 
of  a  race  gone  by.  It  was  singular  to  hear  anecdotes 
of  Hume,  and  Robertson,  and  Gibbon,  and  the  other 
intellectual  '  giants  of  old,'  from  one  who  had  mingled 
with  their  minds  in  familiar  converse.  I  felt  as  if  car- 
ried back  at  least  a  century. 

"  <  Ah  !'  said  he,  half  playfully,  half  sadly,  *  there 
were  men  in  Scotland  then !'  I  could  not  help  think- 
ing of  the  story  of  *  Ogier  the  Dane' — do  you  recollect 
his  grasping  the  iron  crow  of  the  peasant  who  broke 
into  his  sepulchre,  and  exclaiming,  '  It  is  well,  there 
are  men  in  Denmark  still?'  Poor  Miss  Mackenzie 
was  so  much  affected  by  the  sudden  and  almost  unex- 
pected awakening  of  her  father's  mind,  that,  on  leav- 
ing the  room  with  me,  she  burst  into  tears,  and  was 
some  time  before  she  could  conquer  her  strong  emo- 
tion. I  hope  to  have  another  interview  with  this 
delightful  old  man  before  I  leave  Edinburgh. 

"  Yesterday  I  went  to  visit  a  fine  colossal  group  of 
sculpture,  Ajax  bearing  away  the  body  of  Patroclus, 
which  has  just  been  completed  by  an  Edinburgh 
artist,  and  is  exciting  much  interest  here.  Its  effect, 
standing  as  it  does,  quite  alone,  in  the  midst  of  a  large 
hall  hung  with  dark  crimson,  is  exceedingly  imposing ; 
and  the  contrast  of  life  and  death  in  the  forms  of  the 
combating  and  the  departed  warrior,  struck  me  as  full 
of  power  and  thought. 


208  MEMOIR    OF    MRS.  HEMANS. 

"  A  few  nights  ago,  I  made  a  party  to  walk  through 
some  of  the  most  beautiful  streets  by  moonlight.  We 
went  along  Prince's  Street,  to  the  foot  of  the  Calton 
Hill,  and  gazed  down  upon  Holyrood,  lying  so  dark 
and  still  in  its  desolateness,  and  forming  so  strong  a 
contrast  to  the  fair  pillars  of  the  Hill,  which  looked 
more  pure  and  aerial  than  ever,  as  they  rose  against 
the  moonlight  sky.  '  Mais  qu'ils  se  passent  dcs  orages 
au  fond  du  cceur  /'  and  how  little  can  those  around 
one  form  an  idea,  from  outward  signs,  of  what  may 
be  overshadowing  the  inner  world  of  the  heart.  Such 
a  sense  of  strangeness  and  loneliness  came  suddenly 
over  me,  surrounded  as  I  was,  amidst  all  this  dusky 
magnificence,  by  acquaintance  of  yesterday.  I  felt  as 
if  all  I  loved  were  so  far,  far  removed  from  me,  that 
I  could  have  burst  into  tears  from  the  rush  of  this 
unaccountable  emotion." 

The  adulation  and  excitement  with  which  she  was 
surrounded,  however  animating  and  amusing  at  the 
moment,  could  not  but  be  followed,  to  a  heart  and 
frame  constituted  like  hers,  by  a  reaction  of  inward 
depression  and  physical  languor.  Amidst  all  her  lively 
details,  there  are  continual  allusions  to  "  the  pure  and 
home-feeling — the  cup  of  water — to  which  I  turn  from 
all  else  that  is  offered  me,  as  I  would  to  a  place  of 
shelter  from  the  noon-day ;"  and  she  gratefully  wrote 
of  finding  Lady  Wedderburn's  "  maternal  kindness,  as 
a  '  soft  green  to  the  soul'  amidst  all  this  excitement." 
She  was  singularly  impressed  by  the  picture  at  Holy- 
rood  House,  shown  as  that  of  Rizzio.  The  authenti- 
city of  this  designation  is  said  to  be  more  than  doubt- 


MEMOIR    OF    MRS.    HEMANS.  209 

ful ;  but  hers  was  not  a  mind  for  question  or  cavil  on 
points  of  this  nature.  The  "  local  habitation  and  the 
name"  were  in  themselves  sufficient  to  awaken  her 
fancy  and  to  satisfy  her  faith.  As  Rizzio's  portrait,  it 
took  its  place  in  her  imaginatioa;  and  the  train  of 
deep  and  mournful  thoughts  it  suggested,  imbued,  as 
was  her  wont,  with  the  colouring  of  her  own  individual 
feelings,  was  embodied  in  the  lines  "  To  a  remembered 
Picture  :"— 

"They  haunt  me  still  —  those  calm,  pure,  holy  eyes! 
Their  piercing  sweetness  wanders  through  my  dreams ; 
The  soul  of  music  that  within  them  lies, 
Comes  o'er  my  soul  in  soft  and  sudden  gleams: 
Life  —  spirit  —  life  immortal  and  divine 
Is  there  —  and  yet  how  dark  a  death  was  thine !" 


In  a  very  different  strain  was  a  jeu  d? esprit  pro- 
duced at  this  time,  which  owed  its  origin  to  a  simple 
remark  on  the  unseasonableness  of  the  weather ;  made 
by  Mrs.  Hemans  to  Mr.  Charles  Kirkpatrick  Sharpe, 
whom  she  was  in  the  habit  of  seeing  at  Sir  David 
Wedderburn's.  "  It  is  so  little  like  summer,"  she  said, 
"that  I  have  not  even  seen  a  butterfly."  "A  but- 
terfly !"  retorted  Mr.  Sharpe — "  I  have  not  even  seen 
a  wasp  !"  The  next  morning,  as  if  in  confutation  of 
this  calumny,  a  wasp  made  its  appearance  at  Lady 
WedderburnV  breakfast  table.  Mrs.  Hemans  imme- 
diately proposed  that  it  should  be  made  a  prisoner, 
inclosed  in  a  bottle,  and  sent  to  Mr.  Sharpe :  this  was 
accordingly  done,  and  the  piquant  missive  was  acknow- 
ledged by  him  as  follows :  — 
18* 


210  MEMOIR    OF    MRS.  REMANS. 

"SONNET  TO  A  WASP,  IN  THE  MANNER  OF  MILTON,  &c.,  BUT 

MUCH   SUPERIOR. 

Poor  insect !  rash  as  rare ! — Thy  sovereign,1  sure, 

Hath  driven  thee  to  Siberia  in  disgrace — 

Else  what  delusion  could  thy  sense  allure, 

To  buzz  and  sting  in  this  unwholesome  place, 

Where  e'en  the  hornet's  hoarser,  and  the  race 

Of  filmy  wing  are  feeble  1 — Honey  here 

(Scarce  as  its  rhyme)  thou  findest  not. — Ah !  beware 

Thy  golden  mail,  to  starved  Arachne  dear;2 

Though  fingers  famed,  that  thrill  th'  immortal  lyre 

Have  pent  thee  up,  a  second  Asmodeus, 

I  wail  thy  doom — I  warm  thee  by  the  fire, 

And  blab  our  secrets — do  not  thou  betray  us ! 

I  give  thee  liberty,  I  give  thee  breath, 

To  fly  from  Athens,  Eurus,  Doctors,  Death  ! !" 

To  this  Mrs.  Hemans   returned  the  following   re- 
joinder: — 

"  THE   LAST    WORDS   OF   THE   LAST    WASP  OF   SCOTLAND. 

Sooth'd  by  the  strain,  the  Wasp  thus  mexle  reply — 
(The  first,  last  time  he  spoke  not  waspishly) — 
"Too  late,  kind  Poet!  comes  thine  aid,  thy  song, 
To  aught  first  starved,  then  bottled  up  so  long. 
Yet,  for  the  warmth  of  this  thy  genial  fire, 
Take  a  Wasp's  blessing  ere  his  race  expire. 
Never  may  provost's  foot  find  entrance  here ! 
Never  may  bailie's  voice  invade  thine  ear! 
Never  may  housemaid  wipe  the  verd  antique 
From  coin  of  thine — Assyrian,  Celt,  or  Greek ! 
Never  may  Eurus  cross  thy  path! — to  thee 
May  winds  and  wynds3  alike  propitious  be! 

1  Beelzebub  is  the  king  of  flies. 

2  A  beautiful  allusion  to  our  starving  weavers. 

9  Alluding  to  antiquarian  visits  to  these  renowned  closes. 


MEMOIR    OF    MRS.  HEMANS.  211 

And  when  thou  diest — (live  a  thousand  years!) — 
May  friends  fill  classic  bottles1  with  their  tears! 
I  can  no  more — receive  my  parting  gasp! — 
Bid  Scotland  mourn  the  last,  last  lingering  Wasp!" 

In  the  families  of  the  late  revered  Baron  Hume 
and  Mr.  Alison,  Mrs.  Hemans  formed  friendships  which 
were  most  affectionately  maintained  throughout  her 
life,  and  of  which  a  grateful  remembrance  was  be- 
queathed to  her  children.  Another  name,  associated 
with  a  thousand  pleasant  recollections  of  courteous 
services  to  herself,  and  indefatigable  good-nature  to 
her  boys,  was  that  of  the  late  Dr.  James  Gregory, 
that  "  bright-minded  and  most  amiable  being"  (to  use 
her  own  words),  whose  early  death,  which,  only  three 
years  afterwards,  removed  him  from  a  circle  of  which 
he  was  the  delight  and  ornament,  filled  her  with  sor- 
row and  sympathy. 

She  would  often  playfully  boast  of  the  great  favour 
she  had  all  her  life  enjoyed  with  "  very  old  gentle- 
men," to  whom,  indeed,  her  winning  and  filial  manner 
was  always  peculiarly  endearing.  This  was  especially 
instanced  in  the  case  of  the  venerable  Sir  Robert 
Liston,  who,  at  that  time,  though  already  an  octo- 
genarian, was  yet  in  the  fullest  exercise  of  all  his 
refined  tastes  and  courtly  hospitalities.  Nothing  could 
exceed  the  enthusiasm  of  his  admiration  for  Mrs. 
Hemans,  nor  the  kindliness  of  his  interest  in  her  chil- 
dren. It  was  at  the  earnest  request  of  her  chival- 
rous old  friend,  that,  when  on  the  point  of  returning 

1  Referring  to  certain  precious  lachrymatories  in  the  posses- 
sion of  Mr.  Sharpe. 


212  MEMOIR    OF    MRS.  HEMANS. 

to  Wavertree,  she  was  persuaded  to  adjourn  for  a 
short  time  to  Milburn  Tower,  his  beautiful  retreat 
near  Edinburgh,  for  the  purpose  of  sitting  for  her  bust 
to  Mr.  Angus  Fletcher.  "  How  happy  I  shall  be," 
she  wrote,  "  to  breathe  in  the  green  shades  of  Mil- 
burn  !  It  is  a  lovely  place,  and  I  delight  in  the 
thoughts  of  its  comparative  repose,  for  I  cannot  tell 
you  how  I  am  yearning  for  quiet." 

"  Sitting  for  a  bust,"  she  wrote  in  a  subsequent 
letter,  "  awful  as  it  may  sound,  is  by  no  means  an 
infliction  so  terrible  as  sitting  for  a  picture :  the 
sculptor  allows  much  greater  liberty  of  action,  as 
every  part  of  the  head  and  form  is  necessary  to  his 
work.  My  effigy  is  now  nearly  completed,  and  is 
thought  to  be  a  performance  of  much  talent." 

It  is  indeed  very  graceful  as  a  work  of  art,  and 
though  the  likeness  is  not  satisfying  at  first  to  homely 
and  household  eyes,  it  wins  its  way  by  degrees  into 
the  heart,  and  from  certain  accidents  of  light  or 
position,  a  resemblance  may  sometimes  unexpectedly 
be  caught,  which  is  almost  startling. 

After  her  visit  to  Milburn  Tower.,  Mrs.  Hemans 
returned  to  her  own  little  dwelling,  rich  in  recol- 
lections, and  eager,  as  usual,  to  share  them  with  her 
friends.  She  had,  soon  afterwards,  a  cheerful  visit 
from  Miss  Jewsbury,  who  was  struck  with  her  im- 
proved spirits,  and  liked  her  house,  and  gave  a  plea- 
sant sketch  of  the  evening  group.  — "  When  night 
comes,"  she  wrote,  "  and  the  darling  boys  are  arrived 
from  school,  and  candles  are  lighted,  and  the  doors 
shut,  our  cabinet  room  would  make  a  charming  cabi- 
net picture." 


MEMOIR    OF    MRS.    HEMANS.  213 

In  the  Edinburgh  Review,  for  October,  1829,1  was 
an  article  on  the  poetry  of  Mrs.  Hemans,  from  the 
master-hand  of  Mr.  Jeffrey.  The  peculiar  charac- 
teristics of  her  style  are  there  touched  upon  with  a 
delicacy  and  discrimination  worthy  of  the  mighty 
critic,  who  had  in  this  instance  laid  aside  his  terrors, 
and  may  well  be  said  to  have  "  done  his  spiriting 
gently."  Her  writings  are  treated  throughout  as 
a  fine  exemplification  of  "  female  poetry ;"  and  he 
brings  into  beautiful  relief  "  that  fine  accord  she  has 
established  between  the  world  of  sense  and  of  soul  — 
that  delicate  blending  of  our  deep  inward  emotions 
with  their  splendid  symbols  and  emblems  without." 

"  Almost  all  her  poems,"  writes  this  high  authority, 
"are  rich  with  fine  descriptions,  and  studded  over 
with  images  of  visible  beauty.  But  these  are  never 
idle  ornaments :  all  her  pomps  have  a  meaning ;  and 
her  flowers  and  her  gems  are  arranged,  as  they  are 
said  to  be  among  Eastern  lovers,  so  as  to  speak  the 
language  of  truth  and  of  passion.  This  is  peculiarly 
remarkable  in  some  little  pieces,  which  seem  at  first 
sight  to  be  purely  descriptive — but  are  soon  found  to 
tell  upon  the  heart,  with  a  deep  moral  and  pathetic 
impression.  But  it  is  a  truth  nearly  as  conspicuous 
in  the  greater  part  of  her  productions;  where  we 
scarcely  meet  with  any  striking  sentiment  that  is  not 
ushered  in  by  some  such  symphony  of  external  nature, 

1  It  should  have  been  mentioned  in  the  proper  order  of  date, 
that  a  very  favourable  critique  on  Mrs.  Hemans's  earlier  poems 
(including  all  her  publications,  from  the  "  Restoration  of  the 
Works  of  Art,"  to  the  "  Stanzas  to  the  Memory  of  the  late 
King,")  appeared  in  the  Quarterly  Review,  for  October,  1820. 


214  MEMOIR    OF    MRS.  HEMANS. 

and  scarcely  a  lovely  picture  that  does  not  serve  as  a 
foreground  to  some  deep  or  lofty  emotion." 

Mrs.  Hemans's  productions,  during  this  winter,  were 
chiefly  lyrics  belonging  to  the  series  of  Songs  of  the 
Affections,  and  other  short  miscellaneous  pieces.  The 
principal  one  of  these,  "  The  Spirit's  Return,"  was  at 
that  time  preferred  by  herself  to  any  thing  else  she 
had  written.  Still  it  was  far  from  satisfying  her,  and' 
she  was  worn  and  excited  during  its  composition,  by 
what  she  was  wont  to  call  "  that  weary  striving  after 
ideal  beauty  which  one  never  can  grasp,"  and  yet 
more  by  those  awful  contemplations  of  the  visionary 
world,  on  which  it  led  her  to  dwell  with  an  interest 
too  intense,  a  curiosity  too  disquieting. 

"  Sometimes  I  think,"  she  wrote  of  this  poem  to  a 
friend,  "  that  I  have  sacrificed  too  much  in  the  ap- 
parition scene,  to  the  idea  that  sweetness  and  beauty 
might  be  combined  with  supernatural  effect.  The 
character  of  the  Greek  sculpture,  which  has  so  singu- 
lar a  hold  upon  my  imagination,  was  much  in  my 
thoughts  at  the  time."  And,  referring  to  the  same 
piece  two  years  after,  she  wrote: — "If  there  be,  as 
my  friends  say,  a  greater  power  in  it  than  I  had  before 
evinced,  I  paid  dearly  for  the  discovery,  and  it  almost 
made  me  tremble  as  I  sounded  '  the  deep  places  of 
my  soul.'  " 

The  following  extracts  belong  to  this  period:  — 

"  I  have  found  the  Spanish  ballad  on  the  death  of 
Aliatar,  since  you  were  here,  and  have  been  sur- 
prised, notwithstanding  all  the  proud  music  of  the 
original  language,  by  the  superior  beauty  of  Southey's 
translation.  The  refrain  of 


MEMOIRS    OF    MRS.    HEMANS.  215 

"Tristes  marchando, 
Las  trompas  roncas," 

has  certainly  a  more  stately  tone  of  sorrow,  than 

"Sad  and  slow, 
Home  they  go;" 

and  yet  the  latter  is  to  me  a  thousand  times  more 
touching.  Is  it  that  word  home  which  makes  it  so, 
with  all  that  it  breathes  of  tenderness  and  sadness?" 


"  On  calling  up  and  reconsidering  my  impressions 
of  Martin's  picture,1  it  seems  to  me  that  something 
more  of  gloomy  grandeur  might  have  been  thrown 
about  the  funeral  pyre ;  that  it  should  have  looked 
more  like  a  thing  apart,  almost  suggesting  of  itself 
the  idea  of  an  awful  sacrifice.  Perhaps  it  was  not  in 
the  resources  of  the  painter  to  do  all  this;  but  the 
imagination,  mine  at  least,  seems  to  require  it." 

"  Have  you  read  Manzone's  noble  ode  on  the  death- 
day  of  Napoleon,2  translated  by  Archdeacon  Wrang- 
ham  ?  It  has  just  been  sent  me  by  Signor  Grimaldi, 
and  I  know  not  when  I  have  met  with  Italian  poetry 
so  rich  in  deep  thought  and  powerful  expression." 


"  I  send  you  part  of  the  conversation  which  so 
much  delighted  me  in  Tieck's  Phantasien.  I  think 
you  will  recognise  all  the  high  tone  of  the  thoughts, 
and  be  pleased  with  the  glimpse  —  a  bright  though 
transient  one — of  the  dreaming-land — that  strange 

1  The  Fall  of  Nineveh.  2  The  Cinque  Maggio. 


216  MEMOIR    OF    MRS.  HEMANS. 

world,  which,  were  I  to  designate  it  by  my  own  ex- 
perience, I  should  call  a  wilderness  of  beauty  and  of 
sorrow." 


"  I  believe  it  is  only  where  the  feelings  are  deeply 
interested,  that  the  imagination  causes  such  perpetual 
bitterness  of  disappointment.  Do  you  remember  St. 
Leon's  dissatisfaction  at  the  manner  in  which  his 
daughters  receive  the  tidings  of  his  death  ?  I  begin 
to  think  that  all  imaginative  persons  are,  to  a  certain 
degree,  St.  Leons,  and  that  they  expect  what  human 
nature  is  very  seldom  rich  enough  to  afford." 


"  I  have  been  reading  Godwin's  Cloudesley.  It 
does  not,  I  think,  carry  away  the  imagination  with 
anything  like  the  mighty  spirit  of  his  earlier  works ; 
but  it  is  beautifully  written,  with  an  occasional  flow 
of  rich  and  fervent  eloquence,  reminding  me  of  the 
effects  he  attributes  to  the  conversation  of  his  own 
old  alchemist  in  St.  Leon." 

Early  in  the  summer  of  1830,  Mrs.  Hemans  pub- 
lished her  volume  of  Songs  of  the  Jffections,  which 
was  dedicated  to  her  revered  friend,  Sir  Robert 
Liston.  In  the  month  of  June,  of  the  same  year,  she 
accomplished  a  project  which  she  had  long  had  at 
heart,  of  making  a  visit  to  the  Lakes  of  Westmore- 
land. Her  tremulous  health,  which  had  undergone 
many  vicissitudes  during  the  winter,  needed  repose 
and  refreshment ;  her  spirit  was  wearied  out  with  the 
'  glare  and  dust  of  celebrity,'  and  she  longed  to  '  flee 
away  and  be  at  rest,'  for  a  season  amongst  the  green 
hills,  and  beside  the  still  waters.  More  than  all,  she 


MEMOIR    OF    MRS.  HEMANS.  217 

was  attracted  to  that  lovely  land  by  the  yet  stronger 
spell  exercised  over  her  mind,  by  the  prospect  of  im- 
mediate communion  with  Mr.  Wordsworth,  of  whom 
she  was  daily  becoming  a  more  zealous  disciple,  and 
whose  invitations  had  been  kind  and  reiterated.  Her 
son  Charles  was  her  companion  on  the  journey  to 
Rydal  Mount ;  and  the  two  other  boys  joined  her  as 
soon  as  she  was  established  in  a  temporary  abode  of 
her  own. 

No  words  but  those  of  her  own  letters  can  do  jus- 
tice to  her  impressions  of  society  and  scenery,  which, 
by  those  who  have  once  enjoyed  them,  can  never  be 
forgotten. 

"  My  nervous  fear  at  the  idea  of  presenting  myself 
to  Mr.  Wordsworth,  grew  upon  me  so  rapidly,  that  it 
was  more  than  seven  o'clock  before  I  took  courage  to 
leave  the  inn  at  Ambleside.  I  had,  indeed,  little 
cause  for  such  trepidation.  I  was  driven  to  a  lovely 
cottage-like  building,  almost  hidden  by  a  profusion  of 
roses  and  ivy ;  and  a  most  benignant-looking  old  man 
greeted  me  in  the  porch.  This  was  Mr.  Wordsworth 
himself;  and  when  I  tell  you  that,  having  rather  a 
large  party  of  visiters  in  the  house,  he  led  me  to  a 
room  apart  from  them,  and  brought  in  his  family  by 
degrees,  I  am  sure  that  little  trait  will  give  you  an 
idea  of  considerate  kindness  which  you  will  both  like 
and  appreciate." 
******* 

"There  is  an  almost  patriarchal  simplicity  about 
him — an  absence  of  all  pretension.  All  is  free,  un- 
studied — 

"The  river  winding  at  its  own  sweet  will" — 
VOL.  I. 19 


218  MEMOIR    OF    MRS.    HEMANS. 

in  his  manner  and  conversation.  There  is  more  of 
impulse  about  them  than  I  had  expected  ;  but  in  other 
respects  I  see  much  that  I  should  have  looked  for  in 
the  poet  of  meditative  life :  frequently  his  head  droops, 
his  eyes  half  close,  and  he  seems  buried  in  quiet 
depths  of  thought.  I  have  passed  a  delightful  morn- 
ing to-day  in  walking  with  him  about  his  own  richly 
shaded  grounds,  and  hearing  him  speak  of  the  old 
English  writers,  particularly  Spenser,  whom  he  loves, 
as  he  himself  expresses  it,  for  his  "  earnestness  and 

devotedness." 

******* 

"  I  must  not  forget  to  tell  you  that  he  not  only 
admired  our  exploit  in  crossing  the  Ulverstone  Sands, 
as  a  deed  of  "  derring  do,"  but  as  a  decided  proof  of 
taste  :  the  Lake  scenery,  he  says,  is  never  seen  to  such 
advantage  as  after  the  passage  of  what  he  calls  its 
majestic  barrier." 

"  I  have  been  making  you  a  little  drawing  of  Mr. 
Wordsworth's  house,  which,  though  it  has  no  other 
merit  than  that  of  fidelity,  will,  I  know,  find  favour 
in  your  sight.  The  steps  up  the  front  lead  to  a  little 
grassy  mound,  commanding  a  view  always  so  rich, 
and  sometimes  so  brightly  solemn,  that  one  can  well 
imagine  its  influence  traceable  in  many  of  the  Poet's 
writings.  On  this  mount  he  frequently  sits  all  even- 
ing, and  sometimes  seems  borne  away  in  thought." 

"  I  seem  to  be  writing  to  you  almost  from  the  spirit- 
land  ;  all  is  here  so  brightly  still,  so  remote  from  every- 
day cares  and  tumults,  that  sometimes  I  can  hardly 


MEMOIR    OF    MRS.  HEMANS.  219 

persuade  myself  I  am  not  dreaming.  It  scarcely 
seems  to  be  '  the  light  of  common  day'  that  is  clothing 
the  woody  mountains  before  me ;  there  is  something 
almost  visionary  in  its  soft  gleams  and  ever-changing 
shadows.  I  am  charmed  with  Mr.  Wordsworth,  whose 
kindness  to  me  has  quite  a  soothing  influence  over  my 
spirits.  Oh  !  what  relief,  what  blessing  there  is  in  the 
feeling  of  admiration,  when  it  can  be  freely  poured 
forth  !  '  There  is  a  daily  beauty  in  his  life,'  which  is 
in  such  lovely  harmony  with  his  poetry,  that  I  am 
thankful  to  have  witnessed  and  felt  it.  He  gives  me 
a  good  deal  of  his  society,  reads  to  me,  walks  with  me, 
leads  my  pony  when  I  ride ;  and  I  begin  to  talk  with 
him  as  with  a  sort  of  paternal  friend.  The  whole  of 
this  morning,  he  kindly  passed  in  reading  to  me  a  great 
deal  from  Spenser,  and  afterwards  his  own  Laodamia, 
my  favourite  Tintern  Mbey,  and  many  of  his  noble 
sonnets.  His  reading  is  very  peculiar,  but,  to  my  ear, 
delightful ;  slow,  solemn,  earnest  in  expression  more 
than  any  I  have  ever  heard :  when  he  reads  or  recites 
in  the  open  air,  his  deep  rich  tones  seem  to  proceed 
from  a  spirit-voice,  and  belong  to  the  religion  of  the 
place ;  they  harmonize  so  fitly  with  the  thrilling  tones 
of  woods  and  waterfalls.  His  expressions  are  often 
strikingly  poetical ;  such  as — '  I  would  not  give  up  the 
mists  that  spiritualize  our  mountains,  for  all  the  blue 
skies  of  Italy.'  Yesterday  evening  he  walked  beside 
me  as  I  rode 'on  a  long  and  lovely  mountain-path,  high 
above  Grasmere  Lake.  I  was  much  interested  by  his 
showing  me,  carved  deep  into  the  rock,  as  we  passed, 
the  initials  of  his  wife's  name,  inscribed  there  many 
years  ago  by  himself;  and  the  dear  old  man,  like  '  Old 


220  MEMOIR    OF    MRS.    HEMANS. 

Mortality,'  renews  them  from  time  to  time.  I  could 
scarcely  help  exclaiming  '  Esto  perpetua !'  " 

"  It  is  delightful  to  see  a  life  in  such  perfect  har- 
mony with  all  that  his  writings  express — 

« True  to  the  kindred  points  of  Heaven  and  home ! ' 

You  may  remember  how  much  I  disliked,  and  I  think 
you  agreed  with  me  in  reprobating,  that  shallow  the- 
ory of  Mr.  Moore's  with  regard  to  the  unfitness  of 
genius  for  domestic  happiness.  I  was  speaking  of  it 
yesterday  to  Mr.  Wordsworth,  and  was  pleased  by  his 
remark,  '  It  is  not  because  they  possess  genius  that 
they  make  unhappy  homes,  but  because  they  do  not 
possess  genius  enough ;  a  higher  order  of  mind  would 
enable  them  to  see  and  feel  all  the  beauty  of  domestic 
ties.'  His  mind,  indeed,  may  well  inhabit  an  untrou- 
bled atmosphere,  for,  as  he  himself  declares,  no  wound- 
ed affections,  no  embittered  feelings,  have  ever  been 
his  lot ;  the  current  of  his  domestic  life  has  flowed  on, 
bright,  and  pure,  and  unbroken.  Hence,  I  think, 
much  of  the- high,  sculpture-like  repose  which  invests 
both  his  character  and  writings  with  so  tranquil  a 
dignity." 

"  Mr.  Wordsworth's  kindness  has  inspired  me  with 
a  feeling  of  confidence  which  it  is  delightful  to  asso- 
ciate with  those  of  admiration  and  respect,  before 
excited  by  his  writings ; — and  he  has  treated  me  with 
so  much  consideration,  and  gentleness,  and  care!  — 
they  have  been  like  balm  to  my  spirit  after  all  the 
fades  flatteries  with  which  I  am  blasee.  I  wish  I  had 


MEMOIR    OF    MRS.  HEMANS.  221 

time  to  tell  you  of  mornings  which  he  has  passed  in 
reading  to  me,  and  of  evenings  when  he  has  walked 
heside  me,  whilst  I  rode  through  the  lovely  vales  of 
Grasmere  and  Rydal ;  and  of  his  beautiful,  sometimes 
half-unconscious  recitation,  in  a  voice  so  deep  and 
solemn,  that  it  has  often  brought  tears  into  my  eyes. 
One  little  incident  I  must  describe.  We  had  been 
listening,  during  one  of  these  evening  rides,  to  various 
sounds  and  notes  of  birds,  which  broke  upon  the  still- 
ness, and  at  last  I  said  —  'Perhaps  there  may  be  a 
deeper  and  richer  music  pervading  all  Nature,  than 
we  are  permitted,  in  this  state,  to  hear.'  He  answered 
by  reciting  those  glorious  lines  of  Milton's, 

4  Millions  of  spiritual  creatures  walk  the  earth, 
Unseen,  both  when  we  wake  and  when  we  sleep,'  &c. 

and  this  in  tones  that  seemed  rising  from  such  depths 
of  veneration  !  I  cannot  describe  the  thrill  with  which 
I  listened ;  it  was  like  the  feeling  which  Lord  Byron 
has  embodied  in  one  of  his  best  and  purest  moments, 
when  he  so  beautifully  says, — 

'And  not  a  breath  crept  through  the  rosy  air, 
And  yet  the  forest  leaves  seemed  stirred  with  prayer.' 

Mr.  Wordsworth's  daily  life  in  the  bosom  of  his  family, 
is  delightful — so  affectionate  and  confiding.  I  cannot 
but  mournfully  feel,  in  the  midst  of  their  happiness, 
'  Still,  still,  I  am  a  stranger  here !' — but  where  am  I 
not  a  stranger  'now  ?" 

"  Yesterday  I  rode  round  Grasmere  and  Rydal  Lake. 
It  was  a  glorious  evening,  and  the  imaged  heaven  in 
the  waters  more  completely  filled  rny  mind,  even  to 
19* 


222  MEMOIR    OF    MRS.  HEMANS. 

overflowing,  than  I  think  any  object  in  nature  ever 
did  before.  I  could  have  stood  in  silence  before  the 
magnificent  vision  for  an  hour,  as  it  flushed  and  faded, 
and  darkened  at  last  into  the  deep  sky  of  a  summer's 
night.  I  thought  of  the  scriptural  expression,  '  A  sea 
of  glass  mingled  with  fire :'  no  other  words  are  fervid 
enough  to  convey  the  least  impression  of  what  lay 
burning  before  me."1 

In  the  midst  of  all  these  enjoyments,  a  slight  acci- 
dent, or  rather  an  accident  manque,  a  little  interfered 
with  the  improvement  in  her  health,  which  had  before 
<been  so  apparent.  "  I  have  been  very  nearly  thrown," 
she  wrote,  "  from  a  spirited  palfrey ;  and  though  I 
flatter  myself  that  Di.  Vernon  herself  could  scarcely 
have  displayed  more  self-possession  in  the  actual  mo- 
ment of  danger,  still  the  shock  and  surprise,  which 
were  so  great  as  to  deprive  me  of  my  voice  for  several 
minutes,  have  brought  on  severe  beating  of  the  heart, 
and  left  me  as  tremulous  as  an  aspen  leaf.  They 

1  This  sweet  vale  of  Grasmere,  with  its  secluded  beauty,  par- 
taking almost  of  an  air  of  consecration,  was  one  of  the  visions 
she  best  loved  to  call  up ;  and  her  sonnet,  "  A  Remembrance  of 
Grasmere,"  written  four  years  afterwards,  describes  the  peculiar 
colouring  with  which  her  imagination  invested  it. 

"O  vale  and  lake,  within  your  mountain  urn, 
Smiling  so  tranquilly,  and  set  so  deep ! 
Oft  doth  your  dreamy  loveliness  return, 
Colouring  the  tender  shadows  of  my  sleep 
With  light  Elysian:  —  for  the  hues  that  steep 
Your  shores  in  melting  lustre,  seem  to  float 
On  golden  clouds  from  spirit-lands  remote  — 
Isles  of  the  blest ;  —  and  in  our  memory  keep 
Their  place  with  holiest  harmonies." 


MEMOIR    OF    MRS.  HEMANS.  223 

have  not,  however,  startled  my  courage  from  its  *  pride 
of  place/  as  I  am  going  to  mount  the  same  steed  this 
evening." 

After  continuing  for  more  than  a  fortnight  the 
inmate  of  Rydal  Mount,1  Mrs.  Hemans  took  up  her 

1  The  description  of  this  lovely  spot,  in  a  little  poem  called 
•"  The  Poet's  Home,"  written  by  Miss  Jewsbury,  and  published 
in  the  Literary  Magnet  for  1826,  is  so  true  and  graphic,  that  it 
cannot  but  add  to  the  interest  of  these  details,  and  must  be 
echoed  by  all  who  can  personally  vouch  for  its  fidelity. 

"Low  and  white,  yet  scarcely  seen 
Are  its  walls,  for  mantling  green, 
Not  a  window  lets  in  light, 
But  through  flowers  clustering  bright; 
Not  a  glance  may  wander  there, 
But  it  falls  on  something  fair; 
Garden  choice,  and  fairy  mound, 
Only  that  no  elves  are  found ; 
Winding  walk,  and  sheltered  nook, 
For  student  grave,  and  graver  book: 
Or  a  bird-like  bower,  perchance, 
Fit  for  maiden  and  romance. 
Then,  far  off,  a  glorious  sheen 
Of  wide  and  sun-lit  waters  seen ; 
Hills,  that  in  the  distance  lie, 
Blue  and  yielding  as  the  sky; 
And  nearer,  closing  round  the  nest, 
The  home,  —  of  all,  the  *  living  crest,1 
Other  rocks  and  mountains  stand, 
Rugged,  yet  a  guardian  band, 
Like  those  that  did,  in  fable  old. 
Elysium  from  the  world  infold. 

Poet!  though  such  dower  be  thine, 
Deem  it  not  as  yet  divine; 


224  MEMOIR    OF    MRS.  HEMANS. 

abode  at  a  sweet  little  retired  cottage  called  Dove 
Nest,  which  had  so  taken  her  fancy  when  she  first 

What  shall  outward  sign  avail, 
If  the  answering-  spirit  fail  ? 
What  this  beauteous  dwelling  be, 
If  it  hold  not  hearts  for  thee  ? 
If  thou  call  its  charms  thine  own, 
Yet  survey  those  charms  alone  1 
—  List  again:  —  companions  meet 
Thou  shalt  have  in  thy  retreat. 

One,  of  long  tried  love  and  truth, 
Thine  in  age,  as  thine  in  youth; 
One  whose  locks  of  partial  grey 
Whisper  somewhat  of  decay ; 
Yet  whose  bright  and  beaming  eye 
Tells  of  more,  that  cannot  die. 
Then  a  second  form  beyond, 
Thine  too,  by  another  bond; 
Sportive,  tender,  graceful,  wild, 
Scarcely  woman,  more  than  child  — 
One  who  doth  thy  heart  entwine, 
Like  the  ever  clinging  vine ; 
One  to  whom  thou  art  a  stay, 
As  the  oak,  that,  scarred  and  grey, 
Standeth  on,  and  standeth  fast, 
Strong  and  stately  to  the  last. 

Poet's  lot  like  this  hath  been; 
Such  perchance  may  I  have  seen; 
Or  in  fancy's  fairy  land, 
Or  in  truth,  and  near  at  hand: 
If  in  fancy,  then,  forsooth, 
Fancy  had  the  force  of  truth ; 
If  again  a  truth  it  were, 
Then  was  truth  as  fancy  fair; 
But  whichever  it  might  be, 
,     'T  was  a  paradise  to  me !"        M.  J.  J. 


MEMOIR    OF    MRS.  HEMANS.  225 

saw  it  from  the  lake,  that  it  seemed  quite  a  gleam  of 
good  fortune  to  find  that  it  was  to  be  let,  and  that  she 
could  engage  rooms  there  for  a  few  weeks'  sojourn. 
Here  she  was  joined  by  the  rest  of  her  little  group, 
and  it  might  have  been  difficult  to  say  which  of  the 
party  was  most  alive  to  the  "  sweet  influences''  around 
them.  "  Henry  out  with  his  fishing-rod,  and  Charles 
sketching,  and  Claude  climbing  the  hill  above  the 
Nest.  I  cannot  follow,"  she  continued,  "  for  I  have 
not  strength  yet ;  but  I  think  in  feeling  I  am  more  a 
child  than  any  of  them." 

"  How  shall  I  tell  you,"  she  wrote  from  this  deli- 
cious retirement,  "of  all  the  loveliness  by  which  I 
am  surrounded — of  all  the  soothing  and  holy  influence 
it  seems  shedding  down  into  my  inmost  heart.  I  have 
sometimes  feared,  within  the  last  two  years,  that  the 
effect  of  suffering  and  adulation,  and  feelings  too 
highly  wrought  and  too  severely  tried,  would  have 
been  to  dry  up  within  me  the  fountains  of  such  pure 
and  simple  enjoyment ;  but  now  I  know  that 

'Nature  never  did  betray 

The  heart  that  loved  her.' 

I  can  think  of  nothing  but  what  is  pure,  and  true, 
and  kind ;  and  my  eyes  are  filled  with  grateful  tears 
even  whilst  I  am  writing  to  you. 

"  I  must  try  to  describe  my  little  nest,  since  I  can- 
not '  call  spirits  from  the  vasty  Lake/  to  bring  you 
hither  through  the  air.  The  house  was  originally 
meant  for  a  small  villa,  though  it  has  long  passed  into 
the  hands  of  farmers,  and  there  is  in  consequence  an 
air  of  neglect  about  the  little  demesne,  which  does  not 


226  MEMOIR    OF    MRS.  HEMANS. 

at  all  approach  desolation,  and  yet  gives  it  something 
of  touching  interest.  You  see  every  where  traces  of 
love  and  care  beginning  to  be  effaced — rose  trees 
spreading  into  wildness — laurels  darkening  the  win- 
dows with  too  luxuriant  branches  ;  and  I  cannot  help 
saying  to  myself,  'Perhaps  some  heart  like  my  own  in 
its  feelings  and  sufferings  has  here  sought  refuge  and 
found  repose/  The  ground  is  laid  out  in  rather  an 
antiquated  style,  which,  now  that  nature  is  beginning 
to  reclaim  it  from  art,  I  do  not  at  all  dislike.  There 
is  a  little  grassy  terrace  immediately  under  the  win- 
dow, descending  to  a  small  court  with  a  circular  grass 
plot,  on  which  grows  one  tall  white  rose  tree.  You 
cannot  imagine  how  I  delight  in  that  fair,  solitary, 
neglected-looking  tree.  I  am  writing  to  you  from  an 
old-fashioned  alcove  in  the  little  garden,  round  which 
the  sweet  briar  and  moss  rose  tree  have  completely 
run  wild ;  and  I  look  down  from  it  upon  lovely  Winan- 
dermere,  which  seems  at  this  moment  even  like  another 
sky,  so  truly  is  every  summer  cloud  and  tint  of  azure 
pictured  in  its  transparent  mirror." 

"I  am  so  much  delighted  with  the  spot,  that  I 
scarcely  know  how  I  shall  leave  it.  The  situation 
is  one  of  the  deepest  retirement ;  but  the  bright  lake 
before  me,  with  all  its  fairy  barks  and  sails,  glancing 
like  *  things  of  life,'  over  its  blue  water,  prevents  the 
solitude  from  being  overshadowed  by  any  thing  like 
sadness." 


"  I  visited  Elleray,  Professor  Wilson's  house1  (though 

1  Now  the  residence  of  Thomas  Hamilton,  Esq. 


MEMOIR    OP    MRS.  HEMANS.  227 

he  is  not  now  at  home),  a  few  days  since.  The  scene 
around  it  is  in  itself  a  festival.  I  never  saw  any  land- 
scape bearing  so  triumphant  a  character.  The  house, 
which  is  beautiful,  seems  built  as  if  to  overlook  some 
fairy  pageant,  something  like  the  Venetian  splendour 
of  old,  on  the  glorious  lake  beneath." 

"  I  should  have  thanked  you  sooner  for  all  those 
spirit-stirring  tales  from  the  early  annals  of  England : 
they  will  afford  me  food  for  thought  some  future  day : 
but  I  think  my  spirit  is  too  much  lulled  by  these  sweet 
scenes,  to  breathe  one  song  of  sword  and  spear  until 
I  have  bid  Winandermere  farewell." 

******* 

"  There  is  balm  in  the  very  stillness  of  the  spot  I 
have  chosen.1  The  majestic  silence  of  these  lakes, 
perfectly  soundless  and  waveless  as  they  are,  except 
when  troubled  by  the  wind,  is  to  me  most  impressive. 
Oh !  what  a  poor  thing  is  society  in  the  presence  of 
skies  and  waters  and  everlasting  hills !  You  may  be 
sure  I  do  not  allude  to  the  dear  intercourse  of  friend 
with  friend;  —  that  would  be  dearer  tenfold — more 
precious,  more  hallowed  in  scenes  like  this." 

In  dwelling  upon  these  records  of  pure  and  health- 
ful enjoyment,  poured  forth  so  freshly  and  freely  from 
the  ever-gushing  fountain  of  her  heart,  it  is  difficult 
to  repress  the  natural  pangs  that  arise,  of  sorrowful 
yearning  and  tender  pity,  for  one  who,  with  feelings 

1  "  Where  even  the  motion  of  an  angel's  wing 
Would  interrupt  the  intense  tranquillity 
Of  silent  hills,  and  more  than  silent  sky." 

Wordsworth. 


228  MEMOIR    OF    MRS.  HEMANS. 

so  attuned  to  the  sweetest  and  holiest  harmonies  of 
life,  was,  by  her  troubled  and  bewildering  lot,  shut 
out  from  all  but  transient  breathings,  "  few  and  far 
between,"  of  "  an  ampler  ether,  a  diviner  air."  Such 
instances  are  fraught  with  regrets  to  human  hearts, — 
with  sad  and  strange  mysteries  to  mortal  vision ; 
regrets  and  mysteries  which  can  alone  be  soothed  and 
solved  by  unquestioning  faith,  and  serene  reliance  on 
the  good  providence  of  God.  A  passage  from  the 
works  of  the  late  John  Bowdler,  bearing  upon  this 
subject,  and  quoted  in  one  of  her  own  letters,  was 
appropriated  by  her  with  no  less  happy  effect  than 
fitting  application.  It  is  as  follows : — "  Could  the  veil 
which  now  separates  us  from  futurity  be  drawn  aside, 
and  those  regions  of  everlasting  happiness  and  sorrow, 
which  strike  so  faintly  on  the  imagination,  be  pre- 
sented fully  to  our  eyes,  it  would  occasion,  I  doubt  not, 
a  sudden  and  strange  revolution  in  our  estimate  of 
things.  Many  are  the  distresses  for  which  we  now 
weep  in  suffering  or  sympathy,  that  would  awaken  us 
to  songs  of  thanksgiving ;  many  the  dispensations 
which  now  seem  dreary  and  inexplicable,  that  would 
fill  our  adoring  hearts  with  thanksgiving  and  joy." 


The  soothing  and  healthful  repose  which  had  been 
so  thoroughly  and  thankfully  appreciated,  was,  alas ! 
not  destined  to  be  of  long  continuance.  Subsequent 
letters  speak  of  the  irruption  of  parties  "  hunting  for 
lions  in  dove's  nests"  —  of  a  renewal  of  the  "Album 
persecution"  —  of  an  absolute  Maelstrom  of  letters 
and  papers  threatening  "  to  boil  over  the  drawer  to 
which  they  were  consigned ;"  till  at  last  the  despair- 


MEMOIR    OF    MRS.    HEMANS.  229 

ing  conclusion  is  come  to,  that  "  one  might  as  well 
hope  for  peace  in  the  character  of  a  shadowless  man 
as  of  a  literary  woman."  How  heartily  could  Mrs. 
Hemans  now  have  repeated  what  she  had  written 
some  months  before,  under  the  pressure  of  peculiar 
irritation  —  "  Do  you  know  the  song  —  *  Where  shall 
we  bury  our  shame?9  Change  the  last  word  into 
fame,  and  it  will  express  all  my  present  perplexities." 
On  quitting  her  pretty  Dove  Nest1  about  the  mid- 
dle of  August,  Mrs.  Hemans  was  prevailed  upon  to 
make  a  second  visit  to  Scotland,  chiefly  in  compliance 
with  the  urgent  invitations  of  her  kind  old  friend  Sir 
Robert  Liston,  whose  advanced  age  made  it  so  im- 
probable that  she  should  have  any  other  chance  of 
ever  seeing  him  again.  On  this  occasion,  she  and  her 
little  "  Carlo  dolce,"  as  some  of  her  friends  would 
affectionately  call  him,  were  every  where  received 
with  the  same  gratifying  distinction,  and  still  more 

1  Her  residence  at  this  fairy  dwelling1  was  pleasingly  recorded 
by  the  magic  pen  of  Christopher  North,  in  the  paper  called,  a 
"  Day  at  Winandermere,"  in  BlackwoocTs  Magazine,  for  Sep- 
tember, 1830.  He  is  describing  the  principal  features  of  the 
landscape  from  one  favourite  point —  "  On  the  nearer  side  of 
these  hills  is  seen  stretching  far  off  to  other  lofty  regions — Hill- 
bell  and  High  Street  conspicuous  over  the  rest — the  long  vale  of 
Troutbreck,  with  its  picturesque  cottag'es,  *  in  numbers  without 
number,  numberless,'  and  all  its  sable  pines  and  sycamores ;  on 
the  farther  side/  that  most  sylvan  of  all  sylvan  mountains,  where 
lately  the  Hemans  warbled  her  native  woodnotes  wild  in  her 
poetic  bower,  fitly  called  Dove  Nest ;  —  and  beyond,  Kirkstone 
Fells  and  Rydal  Head,  magnificent  giants,  looking  westward  to 
the  Langdale  Pikes, 

'The  last  that  parley  with  the  setting  sun.' 

VOL.  I. 20 


230  MEMOIR    OF    MRS.  HEMANS. 

gratifying  kindness,  which  had  marked  their  sojourn 
in  the  North.  Several  of  the  visits  were  now  ac- 
complished which  she  had,  at  that  time,  been  obliged 
to  decline ;  particularly  to  those  "  stately  homes  of 
Scotland,"  Hopetoun  House  and  Kinfauns  Castle. 
During  her  stay  at  Milburn  Tower,  she  formed  a 
friendship  with  the  family  of  the  late  J.  C.  Graves, 
Esq.  of  Dublin,  who  were  Sir  Robert  Liston's  guests 
at  the  same  time ;  and  having  in  view  a  visit  to 
Wales  in  the  course  of  the  autumn,  she  was  induced 
by  them  to  carry  this  into  effect  by  way  of  Dublin 
and  Holyhead,  instead  of  proceeding  from  Glasgow  to 
Liverpool. 

Mrs.  Hemans  had  been  for  some  time  possessed  with 
the  conviction  that  her  situation  at  Wavertree  was 
neither  suitable  to  her  own  health,  nor  half  so  favour- 
able a  one  as  she  had  been  led  to  hope,  for  the  edu- 
cation of  her  sons.  She  had  therefore  found  it  neces- 
sary to  contemplate  another  change  of  residence,  and 
had  once  serious  thoughts  of  establishing  herself  in 
Edinburgh ;  a  plan  which  would  have  been,  in  many 
respects,  most  desirable  ;  but  the  opinion  of  her  medi- 
cal friends  was  uniform  and  decided,  that  her  consti- 
tution was  totally  unfit  to  brave  the  severity  of  a 
northern  climate,  and  that,  in  fact,  one  winter,  or 
rather  spring,  in  Edinburgh,  might  be  fatal  to  her. 

Having  formed  very  agreeable  impressions  of  Dub- 
lin on  her  present  visit,  and  being  much  influenced 
by  the  encouraging  reports  she  heard  of  its  climate 
and  educational  advantages,  as  well  as  by  the  circum- 
stance of  her  brother,  Major  Browne,  being  settled  in 
Ireland,  she  now  came  to  the  determination  of  remov 


MEMOIR    OF    MRS.  REMANS.  231 

ing  there  in  the  following  spring.  Late  in  the  autumn, 
on  her  way  back  to  Wavertree,  she  paid  her  last  visit 
to  Bronwylfa,  and  bade  a  second,  and  now  an  uncon- 
sciously final,  adieu  to  the 

"  Green  land  of  her  childhood,  her  home,  and  her  dead." 

The  following  extracts  are  chiefly  from  letters  ad- 
dressed to  her  new  friends  in  Dublin  : — 

"  I  thought  Anglesey,  through  which  I  travelled, 
without  exception,  the  most  dreary,  culinary  looking 
land  of  prose  I  ever  beheld.  I  strove  in  vain  to  con- 
jure up  the  ghost  of  a  Druid,  or  even  of  a  tree,  on 
its  wide,  monotonous  plains,  which  I  really  think 
nature  must  have  produced  to  rest  herself,  after  the 
strong  excitement  of  composing  the  Caernarvonshire 
hills.  But  I  cannot  tell  you  how  mach  I  wanted  to 
express  my  feelings  when  at  last  that  bold  mountain 
chain  rose  upon  me,  in  all  its  grandeur,  with  the 
crowning  Snowdon  (very  superior,  I  assure  you,  in 
'shape  and  feature,'  to  our  friend  Ben  Lomond),  main- 
taining his  'pride  of  place'  above  the  whole  ridge. 
And  the  Menai  bridge,  which  I  thought  I  should 
scarcely  have  noticed  in  the  presence  of  those  glori- 
ous heights,  really  seems,  from  its  magnificence,  a 
native  feature  of  the  scene,  and  nobly  asserts  the  pre- 
eminence of  mind  above  all  other  things.  I  could 
scarcely  have  conceived  such  an  union  of  strength 
and  grace ;  and  its  chain  work  is  so  airy  in  appear- 
ance, that  to  drive  along  it  seems  almost  like  passing 
through  the  trellis  of  a  bower ;  it  is  quite  startling  to 
look  down  from  any  thing  which  appears  so  fragile,  to 
the  immense  depth  below. 


232  MEMOIR    OF   MRS.  HEMANS. 

"  Part  of  my  journey  lay  along  the  sea-shore  rather 
late  at  night,  and  I  was  surprised  by  quite  a  splendid 
vision  of  the  northern  lights,  on  the  very  spot  where 
I  had  once,  and  once  only,  before  seen  them  in  early 
childhood.  They  shot  up  like  slender  pillars  of  white 
light,  with  a  sort  of  arrowy  motion,  from  a  dark  cloud 
above  the  sea ;  their  colour  varied  in  ascending,  from 
that  of  silver  to  a  faint  orange,  and  then  a  very  deli- 
cate green ;  and  sometimes  the  motion  was  changed, 
and  they  chased  each  other  along  the  edge  of  the 
cloud,  with  a  dazzling  brightness  and  rapidity.  I  was 
almost  startled  by  seeing  them  there  again ;  and  after 
so  long  an  interval  of  thoughts  and  years,  it  was  like 
the  effect  produced  by  a  sudden  burst  of  familiar  and 
yet  long-forgotten  music." 


"  I  did  not  observe  any  object  of  interest  on  my 
voyage  from  Wales,  excepting  a  new  beacon  at  the 
extremity  of  the  Liverpool  Rock,  and  which  I  thought 
a  good  deal  like  the  pictures  of  the  Eddystone  Light- 
house. There  was  something  to  me  particularly  stern 
and  solemn  in  its  appearance,  as  it  rose  darkly  against 
a  very  wild  sky,  like  a  '  pillar  of  cloud,'  with  a  capi- 
tal of  deep-coloured  fire :  but  perhaps  the  gloom  and 
stormy  effect  of  the  evening  might  have  very  much 
aided  the  impression  left  upon  my  fancy." 


"  Have  you  seen  Rogers's  Italy,  with  its  exquisite 
embellishments  ?  The  whole  book  seems  to  me  quite 
a  triumph  of  art  and  taste.  Some  of  Turner's  Italian 
scenes,  with  their  moonlit  vestibules  and  pillared 
arcades,  the  shadows  of  which  seem  almost  trembling 


MEMOIR    OF    MRS.  HEMANS.  233 

on  the  ground  as  you  look  at  them,  really  might  be  fit 
representations  of  Armida's  enchanted  gardens :  and 
there  is  one  view  of  the  Temples  of  Paestum,  standing 
in  their  severe  and  lonely  grandeur  on  the  shore,  and 
lit  up  hy  a  flash  of  lightning,  which  brought  to  my 
mind  those  lines  of  Byron  — 

*As  I  gazed,  the  place 

Became  Religion,  and  the  heart  ran  o'er 
With  silent  worship  of  the  great  of  old.' 

"  I  have  not  yet  read  Northcote's  Life  of  Titian, 
but  I  was  much  struck  with  a  passage  I  lately  saw 
quoted  from  it,  relating  to  that  piercing,  intellectual, 
eagle-look,  which  I  have  so  often  remarked  in  Titian's 
portraits.  '  It  is  the  intense  personal  character,' 
Northcote  says  '  which  gives  the  superiority  to  those 
portraits  over  all  others,  and  stamps  them  with  a  liv- 
ing and  permanent  interest.  Whenever  you  turn  to 
look  at  them,  they  appear  to  be  looking  at  you.  There 
seems  to  be  some  question  pending  between  you,  as  if 
an  intimate  friend  or  an  inveterate  foe  were  in  the 
room  with  you.  They  exert  a  kind  of  fascinating 
power,  and  there  is  that  exact  resemblance  to  indi- 
vidual nature,  which  is  always  new  and  always  inter- 
esting.' I  suppose  it  was  a  feeling  of  this  kind  which 
made  Fuseli  exclaim,  on  seeing  Titian's  picture  of 
Paul  the  Third  with  his  two  nephews,  '  That  is  his- 
tory !' " 

"  The    account   you   sent  me  of  the  longevity  of 
artists  (a  privilege  which  I,  at  least,  am  far  from  envy- 
ing them),  seemed  confirmed,  or  rather  accounted  for, 
in  some  degree,  by  a  paper  I  was  reading  on  the  same 
20* 


234  MEMOIR    OF    MRS.    HEMANS, 

day, — it  is  written,  with  great  enthusiasm,  on  the 
*  Pleasures  of  Painting ;'  and  the  author  (Hazlitt,  I 
believe),  describes  the  studies  of  the  artist  as  a  kind 
of  sanctuary,  a  'city  of  refuge'  from  worldly  strife, 
envy  and  littleness ;  and  his  communion  with  nature 
as  sufficient  to  fill  the  void,  and  satisfy  all  the  cravings 
of  heart  and  soul.  I  wonder  if  this  indeed  can  be. 
I  should  like  to  go  by  night  with  a  magician  to  the 
Coliseum  (as  Benvenuto  Cellini  did),  and  call  up  the 
spirits  of  those  mighty  Italian  artists,  and  make  them 
all  tell  me  whether  they  had  been  happy;  but  it 
would  not  do  to  forget,  as  he  also  did — (have  you  ever 
read  those  strange  memoirs  of  his?)  —  the  spell  by 
which  the  ghosts  were  laid,  as  the  consequences  were 
extremely  disagreeable." 

"  I  was  much  interested  a  few  days  ago,  in  looking 
over  some  beautiful  engravings  of  antique  English 
portraits.  I  wonder  whether  you  were  ever  impressed 
by  what  struck  me  much  during  an  examination  of 
them,  the  superior  character  of  repose  by  which  they 
are  distinguished  from  the  portraits  of  the  present 
day,  I  found  this,  to  a  certain  degree,  the  predomi- 
nant trait  in  every  one  of  them ;  not  any  thing  like 
nonchalance  or  apathy,  but  a  certain  high-minded 
self-possession,  something  like  what  I  think  the  '  Opium 
Eater'  calls  the  '  brooding  of  the  majestic  intellect 
over  all.'  I  scarcely  ever  see  a  trace  of  this  quiet, 
yet  stately  sweetness,  in  the  expression  of  modern  por- 
traits; they  all  look  so  eager,  so  restless,  so  trying  to 
be  vieille.  I  wonder  if  this  is  owing  to  the  feverish 
excitement  of  the  times  in  which  we  live,  for  I  should 


MEMOIR    OF    MRS.  IIEMANS.  235 

suppose  that  the  world  has  never  been  in  such  a  hurry 
during  the  whole  course  of  its  life  before." 


"  Since  I  wrote  last,  I  have  been  quite  confined  to 
the  house ;  but  before  I  caught  my  last  very  judicious 
cold,  I  went  to  see  an  exquisite  piece  of  sculpture, 
which  has  been  lately  sent  to  this  neighbourhood  from 
Rome  by  Gibson,  with  whose  name  as  an  artist  you 
are  most  likely  familiar.  It  is  a  statue  of  Sappho, 
representing  her  at  the  moment  she  receives  the  tidings 
of  Phaon's  desertion.  I  think  I  prefer  it  to  almost 
any  thing  I  ever  saw  of  Canova's,  as  it  possesses  all 
his  delicacy  and  beauty  of  form,  but  is  imbued  with 
a  far  deeper  sentiment.  There  is  a  sort  of  willowy 
drooping  in  the  figure,  which  seems  to  express  a  weight 
of  unutterable  sadness,  and  one  sinking  arm  holds  the 
lyre  so  carelessly,  that  you  almost  fancy  it  will  drop 
while  you  gaze.  Altogether,  it  seems  to  speak  pierc- 
ingly and  sorrowfully  of  the  nothingness  of  Fame,  at 
least  to  woman.  There  was  a  good  collection  of  pic- 
tures in  the  same  house,  but  they  were  almost  unac- 
countably vulgarized  in  my  sight  by  the  presence  of 
the  lonely  and  graceful  statue." 


"  I  wish  I  could  be  with  you  to  see  Young's  per- 
formance of  Hamlet,  of  all  Shakspeare's  characters 
the  one  which  interests  me  most ;  I  suppose  from  the 
never-ending'  conjectures  in  which  it  involves  one's 
mind.  Did  I  ever  mention  to  you  Goethe's  beautiful 
remark  upon  it  ?  He  says,  that  Hamlet's  naturally 
gentle  and  tender  spirit,  overwhelmed  with  its  mighty 
tasks  and  solemn  responsibilities,  is  like  a  China  vase, 


236  MEMOIR    OF    MRS.  HEMANS. 

fit  only  for  the  reception  of  delicate  flowers,  but  in 
which  an  oak  tree  has  been  planted ;  the  roots  of  the 
strong  tree  expand,  and  the  fair  vase  is  shivered." 


"  I  have  lately  met  with  an  exquisite  little  book, 
a  work  upon  the  Classics,  just  published,  by  Henry 
Coleridge ;  it  is  written  with  all  the  fervour,  and 
much  of  the  rich  imagination  and  flow  of  '  words 
that  burn,'  which  characterise  the  writings  of  his 
celebrated  relative." 

"  Some  Quarterly  Reviews  have  lately  been  sent 
to  me,  one  of  which  contains  an  article  on  Byron,  by 
which  I  have  been  deeply  and  sorrowfully  impressed. 
His  character,  as  there  portrayed,  reminded  me  of 
some  of  those  old  Eastern  cities,  where  travellers 
constantly  find  a  squalid  mud  hovel  built  against  the 
ruins  of  a  gorgeous  temple ;  for  alas !  the  best  part 
of  that  fearfully  mingled  character  is  but  ruin — the 
wreck  of  what  might  have  been." 


"  I  have  been  reading  a  great  deal  during  all  this 
gloomy  winter,  and  have  been  charmed  lately  by  an 
account  of  the  life  of  my  favourite  musician  Weber,  in 
the  Foreign  Quarterly  Review,  with  extracts  from 
his  letters.  The  flow  of  affectionate  feeling  in  these 
— the  love  he  everywhere  manifests  of  excellence  for 
its  own  sake — the  earnestness  and  truth  of  heart  re- 
vealed in  all  his  actions — these  things  make  up  a 
character,  like  his  own  music,  of  perfect  harmony. 
Is  it  not  delightful,  a  foundation  of  gladness  to  our 
own  hearts,  when  we  are  able  to  love  what  we  ad- 


MEMOIR    OF    MRS.  HEMANS.  237 

mire  ?  I  shall  play  the  waltz,  and  those  beautiful 
airs  from  <Der  Freischiitz,'  with  tenfold  pleasure  after 
reading  the  memoir.'* 


"  I  hope  you  will  be  as  much  amused  at  the  *  An- 
alysis of  a  Lady's  Tear,'  which  I  inclose  for  your  edi- 
fication, as  I  have  been.  Only  imagine  the  tear  to 
have  been  one  shed  at  parting,  and  then  can  you  con- 
ceive any  thing  so  unsentimental  ?" 

The  inclosure  was  the  following  extract,  cut  out  of 
a  newspaper : — "  Analysis  of  a  Lady's  Tear. — This 
was  really  effected  by  the  celebrated  Smithson,  one  of 
the  fellows  of  the  Royal  Society,  whose  loss  the  past 
week  lias  had  to  deplore.  Nothing,  it  seems,  eluded 
the  grasp  of  this  enquiring  man,  who,  not  content  with 
operating  on  the  common  objects  which  nature  had 
placed  before  him,  presumed  to  approach  the  shrine 
of  beauty  itself,  wherewith  to  satisfy  his  curiosity. 
He  had  analysed  more  than  a  dew-drop — a  lady's 
tear !  He  caught  the  pearly  treasure  as  it  fell  from 
its  source,  and  on  submitting  it  to  his  tests,  discovered 
that  it  contained  two  separate  salts.' 


"  Since  I  last  wrote  to  you,  I  have  received  a  visit 
from  a  remarkable  person,  whose  mind  is  full,  even 
to  overflowing,  of  intelligence  and  original  thought. 

It  is  Dr. ,  the  distinguished  linguist,  of  whom  I 

shall  speak.  I  do  not  know  when  I  have  heard  such 
a  flow  of  varying  conversation ;  it  is  like  having  a 
flood  of  mind  poured  out  upon  you,  and  that,  too, 
evidently  from  the  strong  necessity  of  setting  the  cur- 
rent free,  not  from  any  design  to  shine  or  overpower. 


238  MEMOIR    OF    MRS.  HEMANS. 

I  think  I  was  most  interested  in  his  descriptions  of 
Spain,  a  country  where  he  has  lived  much,  and  to 
which  he  is  strongly  attached.  He  spoke  of  the  songs 
which  seem  to  fill  the  airs  of  the  South,  from  the  con- 
stant improvisation  of  the  people  at  their  work :  he 
described  as  a  remarkable  feature  of  the  scenery,  the 
little  rills  and  water-courses  which  were  led  through 
the  fields  and  gardens,  and  even  over  every  low  wall, 
by  the  Moors  of  Andalusia,  and  which  yet  remain, 
making  the  whole  country  vocal  with  pleasant  sounds 
of  waters :  he  told  me  also  several  striking  anecdotes 
of  a  bandit  chief  in  Murcia,  a  sort  of  Spanish  Rob 
Roy,  who  has  carried  on  his  predatory  warfare  there 
for  many  years,  and  is  so  adored  by  the  peasantry,  for 
whose  sake  he  plunders  the  rich,  that  it  is  impossible 
for  the  government  ever  to  seize  upon  him.  Some 
expressions  of  the  old  Biscayan  (the  Basque)  language, 
which  he  translated  for  me,  I  thought  beautifully 
poetical.  The  sun  is  called,  in  that  language,  '  that 
which  pours  the  day  ;'  and  the  moon,  <  the  light  of 
the  dead.'  Well,  from  Spain  he  travelled,  or  rather 
shot  off — like  Robin  Goodfellow,  who  could 

*  put  a  girdle  round  about  the  earth 

In  forty  minutes,'  — 

away  to  Iceland,  arid  told  me  of  his  having  seen  there 
a  MS.  recording  the  visit  of  an  Icelandic  Prince  to 
the  court  of  our  old  Saxon  king,  Athelstane.  Then 
to  Paris,  Brussels,  Warsaw,  with  a  sort  of  « open 
sesame'  for  the  panorama  of  each  court  and  kingdom. 

***** 
"  A  striking  contrast  to  all  this,  was  a  visit  I  lately 


MEMOIR    OF    MRS.  HEMANS.  239 

paid  to  old  Mr.  Roscoe,  who  may  be  considered  quite 
as  the  father  of  literature  in  this  part  of  the  world. 
He  is  a  delightful  old  man,  with  a  fine  Roman  style 
of  head,  which  he  had  adorned  with  a  green  velvet 
cap  to  receive  me  in,  because,  as  he  playfully  said, 
'  he  knew  I  always  admired  him  in  it.' !  Altogether 
he  put  me  rather  in  mind  of  one  of  Rembrandt's 
pictures ;  and,  as  he  sat  in  his  quiet  study,  surrounded 
by  busts,  and  books,  and  flowers,  and  with  a  beautiful 
cast  of  Canova's  Psyche  in  the  back-ground,  I  thought 
that  a  painter,  who  wished  to  make  old  age  look 
touching  and  venerable,  could  not  have  had  a  better 
subject." 

The  occasional  society  of  Mr.  Roscoe,  in  such 
bright  intervals  as  were  admitted  by  his  failing  health 
(which  frequently  obliged  him  to  pass  months  in  com- 
parative seclusion,  though  it  never  impaired  his  men- 
tal energies  and  cheerful  benevolence),  was  one  of  the 
greatest  enjoyments  of  Mrs.  Hemans's  residence  near 
Liverpool.  She  never  spoke  of  him  but  with  affec- 
tionate deference,  and  had  an  honest  pride  in  know- 
ing that  he  appreciated  her  poetry,  and  took  pleasure 
in  having  it  read  to  him.  It  was  during  the  present 
winter  and  spring  that  she  applied  herself  with  some 
diligence  to  the  study  of  music,  under  the  instruction 
of  Mr.  J.  Zeugheer  Herrmann,  who,  as  she  wrote, 
"  comes  to  me  every  week,  and  I  should  like  him  as  a 

1  This  is  not  the  first  instance  of  the  attractions  of  a  green 
velvet  cap.  In  one  of  Alexander  Knox's  letters,  speaking  of 
the  picture  for  which  he  was  then  sitting,  he  says — "  Sir  Thomas 
Acland  would  have  me  in  my  invalid  dress — my  green  velvet 
nightcap  had  taken  hold  of  his  heart." 


240  MEMOIR    OP    MRS.  HEMANS. 

master  exceedingly,  were  it  not  that  I  am  sure  I  give 
him  the  toothache  whenever  I  play  a  wrong  note,  and 
a  sympathising  pang  immediately  shoots  through  my 
own  compassionate  heart." 

About  the  same  time,  she  began  to  be  sensible  of 
a  newly-awakened  power  of  inventing  airs,  adapted 
to  the  words  of  some  of  her  own  lyrics.  The  spon- 
taneous flow  of  this  stream  of  melody,  was  a  source 
of  great  delight  to  her,  though  she  found  some  dif- 
ficulty in  the  mechanical  part  of  noting  down,  or 
what  she  called  "  caging,"  her  musical  fancies.  In 
this  task  she  was  most  kindly  aided  by  Mr.  Lodge, 
the  accomplished  amateur  already  alluded  to ;  and 
to  whom  she  was  indebted  for  the  symphonies  and 
accompaniments  of  two  of  her  songs,  "  Go  forth,  for 
she  is  gone,"  and  "By  the  mighty  Minster's  Bell," 
which  were  published  by  Lonsdale  and  Mills.1 

The  following  note  may  be  applicable  to  that 
numerous  class  of  hieroglyphical  writers,  who  would 
do  well  to  adopt  the  ingenious  device  of  a  certain 
French  nobleman  of  the  vieille  cour : — "  Par  respect, 
Monsieur"  (he  wrote,  or  rather  scrawled,  to  a  person 
of  equal  rank  with  himself),  "je  vous  ecris  de  ma 
propre  main ;  mais  pour  faciliter  la  lecture,  je  vous 
envoye  une  copie  de  ma  lettre."  —  "I  have  the  plea- 
sure to  inform  you  that  you  have  attained  a  degree 

1  The  copyright  of  four  other  songs,  also  composed  by  Mrs. 
Hemans;  v;as  purchased  by  the  late  Mr.  Power,  not  long  before 
his  death ;  but  it  is  believed  they  have  never  been  published. 
These  were,—"  The  Wreck ;"  "  Thou'rt  passing  from  the  Lake's 
green  side ;"  (the  Indian  song  from  "  Edith,"  in  Records  of 
Woman} ;  "  Death  and  the  Warrior ;"  and  "  Good  Night." 


MEMOIR    OF    MRS.    HEMANS.  241 

of  indistinctness  positively  sublime  in  the  name  of  the 
day  upon  which  you  promise  to  visit  me  next.  I  was, 
as  the  Lady  Cherubina  says,  in  The  Heroine,  '  terribly 
ill  off  for  mysteries/  before  the  arrival  of  your  note ; 
but  this  deficiency  is  now  most  happily  supplied. 
Reasoning  from  analogy  instead  of  wisdom,  I  should 
conclude  it  to  be  Tuesday,  but  then  it  has,  if  my 
senses  fail  me  not,  a  dotted  i :  it  seems  to  have  rather 
too  many  letters  for  Friday,  and  into  Wednesday  it 
cannot  be  metamorphosed,  even  on  the  antiquarian 
system,  that  '  consonants  are  changeable  at  pleasure, 
and  vowels  go  for  nothing.'  '  The  force  of  nature 
can  no  further  go ;?  therefore  I  return  the  awful 
hieroglyphic  for  your  inspection,  and  beg  for  some 
further  light." 

The  next  note  refers  to  some  of  the  works  of  an 
amiable  young  artist,  whose  distinguished  talents 
excited  in  all  who  knew  him  a  strong  feeling  of  ad- 
miration, subdued  into  sorrowful  interest  by  his  early 
death. 

"  I  return  the  very  interesting  collection  of  Mr. 
Austin's  drawings,  which  I  had  great  pleasure  in  look- 
ing over  yesterday  evening.  I  only  regret  that  there 
were  no  names  to  them,  as  I  am  prevented  from  par- 
ticularizing those  which  I  most  admired  ;  but  I  recog- 
nised Tivoli,  and  wras  especially  struck  with  one 
representing  the  interior  of  a  church.  There  is  also 
an  exquisite  little  hermitage  buried  among  trees, 
where  I  should  like  to  pass  at  least  a  month  after  my 
late  fatigues,  and  hear  nothing  but  the  sound  of  leaves 
and  waters,  and  now  and  then  some  pleasant  voice  of 
a  friend.  I  did  not  quite  understand  a  message  which 

VOL.  I. 21 


242  MEMOIR    OF    MRS.  HEMANS. 

Henry  brought  me,  about  the  dedication  or  advertise- 
ment to  these  drawings.  I  cannot  help  feeling  inte- 
rested in  Mr.  Austin,  from  all  I  have  heard  you  say 
of  him  ;  and  if  you  think  it  would  gratify  him,  I  would 
send  you  a  few  lines  to  be  prefixed  to  this  work,  in 
which  I  should  try  to  express  in  poetry  what  I  imagine 
he  wishes  to  convey — that  the  spirit  of  the  artist  was 
wandering  over  the  sunny  fields  of  Italy,  whilst  he 
himself  was  confined  to  the  bed  of  sickness." 

The  "  late  fatigues"  referred  to  in  the  above  note, 
were  occasioned  by  all  the  harassing  preparations  for 
removal,  which  were  now  assuming  a  "  form  and 
pressure"  absolutely  overwhelming  to  one  so  little 
used  to  worldly  cares,  and  whose  fitful  strength  was 
so  easily  exhausted.  Mrs.  Hemans  had  continued 
to  be  visited  throughout  the  winter,  by  those  distress- 
ing attacks  of  palpitation  of  the  heart,  which  caused 
her  friends  so  much  uneasiness,  and  were  invariably 
brought  on  by  any  unwonted  excitement,  or  mental 
agitation.  "My  chest  is  still  strangely  oppressed," 
she  wrote  in  one  of  her  letters,  "  and  always  makes 
me  think  of  Horatio's  words: — 

'I,  in  this  harsh  world,  draw  my  breath  with  pain.'" 

And  the  following,  written  at  the  point  of  depar- 
ture, now  seems  fraught  with  a  sad  foreboding  : — 

"  You  will  be  surprised  to  hear,  that  notwithstand- 
ing my  healthful  looks,  Dr. ,  who  visited  me  after 

you  were  gone,  positively  forbade  the  intended  excur- 
sion to  Ince,  and  gave  me  most  serious  admonitions 
with  regard  to  that  complaint  of  the  heart  from  which 
I  suffer,  He  says  that  nothing  but  great  care  and 


MEMOIR    OP    MRS.    HEMANS.  243 

perfect  quiet  will  prevent  its  assuming  a  dangerous 
character ;  and  I  told  him  that  he  might  as  well  pre- 
scribe for  me  the  powdered  diamonds  which  physicians 
of  the  olden  time  ordered  for  royal  patients.  I  must 
own  that  this  has  somewhat  deepened  the  melancholy 
impressions  under  which  I  am  going  to  Ireland,  for  •! 
cannot  but  feel  assured  that  he  is  right." 

On  the  subject  of  her  new  plans,  she  thus  wrote  to 
an  attached  friend  in  Scotland  : — "  One  of  my  greatest 
inducements  to  take  this  step,  is  the  constant  want  of 
protection  and  domestic  support  to  which  my  situation 
exposes  me,  and  my  anxiety  to  have  my  brother's 
advice  and  guidance  as  to  my  boys,  for  whose  future 
prospects  in  life  I  begin  to  feel  painfully  anxious. 
Ireland  seems  a  troubled  land  to  seek,  just  at  present; 
but  every  place  is  troubled  to  a  woman  at  once  so 
conspicuous,  so  unprotected,  and  so  little  acquainted 
with  the  world  as,  from  peculiar  causes,  I  am.  I  shall 
not  despair  of  seeing  you  again,  as  Scotland  is  just  as 
attainable  from  Dublin  as  from  Liverpool,  and  I  have 
too  many  kind  friends  there,  ever  to  forget  the  beau- 
tiful scenes  in  which  I  first  knew  them.  Do  not  fancy 
that  I  was  insensible  to  the  external  charms  of  Kin- 
fauns,  because  the  treasures  of  art  within  its  walls 
were  more  attractive  to  me  (who  am  passionately  fond 
of  such  objects,  and  have  had  few  opportunities  of 
gratifying  my  taste  for  them)  than  the  hills  and  woods 
without.  You  should  recollect  that  I  have  been  almost 
cradled  amidst  scenes  of  beauty,  and  almost  all  the 
forms  and  colours  of  nature  are  familiar  to  me,  but  it 
is  not  so  with  those  of  art/' 

Towards  the  latter  end  of  April  1831,  Mrs.  Hemans 


244  MEMOIR    OF    MRS.  HEMANS. 

quitted  England  for  the  last  time,  and,  after  remaining 
for  a  few  weeks  in  Dublin,  proceeded  to  visit  her  bro- 
ther, then  residing  at  the  Hermitage,  near  Kilkenny. 
"  This/'  she  wrote,  "  is  a  very  pretty  little  spot,  and  I 
should  be  really  sorry  that  my  brother  is  to  leave  it  in 
two  or  three  months,  were  it  not  that  the  change  will 
be  one  of  great  advantage  to  himself,  as  he  is  appoint- 
ed to  a  trust  of  high  responsibility.  I  have  a  blue 
mountain  chain  in  sight  of  my  window,  and  the  voice 
of  the  river  comes  in  to  me  delightfully.  My  health 
has  been  very  unsettled,  yet  my  friends  are  surprised 
to  see  me  looking  so  well.  I  think  that,  on  the  whole, 
the  soft  climate  agrees  with  me ;  my  greatest  foe  is 
*  the  over-beating  of  the  heart.'  My  life  in  Dublin 
was  what  might  have  been  expected — one  of  constant 
excitement,  and  more  '  broken  into  fragments '  than 
ever.  I  very  nearly  gave  up  letter- writing  in  despair. 
I  must,  however,  gratefully  acknowledge,  that  I  met 
there  much  true  kindness.  The  state  of  the  country 
here,  though  Kilkenny  is  considered  at  present  tran- 
quil, is  certainly,  to  say  the  least  of  it,  very  ominous. 
We  paid  a  visit  yesterday  evening  at  a  clergyman's 
house  about  five  miles  hence,  and  found  a  guard  of 
eight  armed  policemen  stationed  at  the  gate :  the  win- 
dow-ledges were  all  provided  with  great  stones  for  the 
convenience  of  hurling  down  upon  assailants ;  and  the 
master  of  the  house  had  not,  for  a  fortnight,  taken  a 
walk  without  loaded  pistols.  You  may  imagine  how 
the  boys,  who  are  all  here  for  the  holidays,  were 
enchanted  with  this  agreeable  state  of  things ;  indeed, 
I  believe,  they  were  not  a  little  disappointed  that  we 
reached  home  without  having  sustained  an  attack 


MEMOIR    OF    MRS.  HEMANS.  245 

from  the  Whitefeet  Do  not,  however,  suppose  that 
we  are  in  the  least  danger,  though  there  seems  just 
possibility  of  danger  enough  all  round  us,  to  keep  up 
a  little  pleasant  excitement  —  (the  tabooed  word 
again  !)  There  is  this  peculiarity  in  Irish  disturbances, 
that  those  who  are  not  obnoxious,  from  party  or  poli- 
tical motives,  to  the  people,  have  really  nothing  to 
fear ;  and  my  brother  is  extremely  popular.  My  sis- 
ter-in-law and  myself  are  often  amused  with  the  idea, 
of  what  our  English  friends  would  think,  did  they 
know  of  our  sitting,  in  this  troubled  land,  with  our 
doors  and  windows  all  open,  till  eleven  o'clock  at 
night." 

The  extracts  which  follow,  are  from  letters  written 
at  the  same  place. 

"  I  wish  to  give  you  an  account  of  an  interesting 
day  I  lately  passed,  before  its  images  become  faint  in 
my  recollection.  We  went  to  Woodstock,  the  place 
where  the  late  Mrs.  Tighe,  whose  poetry  has  always 
been  very  touching  to  my  feelings,  passed  the  latest 
years  of  her  life,  and  near  which  she  is  buried.  The 
scenery  of  the  place  is  magnificent ;  of  a  style  which, 
I  think,  I  prefer  to  every  other ;  wild,  profound  glens, 
rich  with  every  hue  and  form  of  foliage,  and  a  rapid 
river  sweeping  through  them,  now  lost,  and  now  light- 
ing up  the  deep  woods  with  sudden  flashes  of  its  waves. 
Altogether,  it  reminded  me  more  of  Hawthornden 
than  anything  I  have  seen  since,  though  it  wants  the 
solemn  rock  pinnacles  of  that  romantic  place.  I  wish 
I  could  have  been  alone  with  Nature  and  my  thoughts ; 
but,  to  my  surprise,  I  found  myself  the  object  of  quite 
a  reception.  There  was  no  help  for  it,  though  I  never 
21  * 


246  MEMOIR    OF    MRS.  HEMANS. 

felt  so  much  as  if  I  wanted  a  large  leaf  to  wrap  me 
up  and  shelter  me.  Still,  one  cannot  but  feel  grateful 
for  kindness,  and  much  was  shown  me.  I  should  have 
told  you  that  Woodstock  is  now  the  seat  of  Mr.  and 
Lady  Louisa  Tighe.  Amongst  other  persons  of  the 
party  was  Mr.  Henry  Tighe,  the  widower  of  the 
poetess.  He  had  just  been  exercising,  I  found,  one 
of  his  accomplishments  in  the  translation  into  Latin 
of  a  little  poem  of  mine ;  and  I  am  told  that  his  ver- 
sion is  very  elegant.  We  went  to  the  tomb,  *  the 
grave  of  a  poetess,'  where  there  is  a  monument  by 
Flaxman :  it  consists  of  a  recumbent  female  figure, 
with  much  of  the  repose,  the  mysterious  sweetness  of 
happy  death,  which  is  to  me  so  affecting  in  monu- 
mental sculpture.  There  is,  however,  a  very  small 
Titania-looking  sort  of  figure  with  wings,  sitting  at  the 
head  of  the  sleeper,  which  I  thought  interfered  with 
the  singleness  of  effect  which  the  tomb  would  have 
produced  :  unfortunately,  too,  the  monument  is  carved 
in  very  rough  stone,  which  allows  no  delicacy  of  touch. 
That  place  of  rest  made  me  very  thoughtful ;  I  could 
not  but  reflect  on  the  many  changes  which  had 
brought  me  to  the  spot  I  had  commemorated  three 
years  since,  without  the  slightest  idea  of  ever  visiting 
it;  and,  though  surrounded  by  attention  and  the 
appearance  of  interest,  my  heart  was  envying  the 
repose  of  her  who  slept  there."  * 

1  It  is  interesting  to  compare  the  ideal  visit  to  "  the  grave  of  a 
poetess,"  described  in  the  little  poem  so  named  in  the  Records 
of  Women,  with  the  real  one  commemorated  in  the  lines  "  Writ- 
ten after  visiting  a  tomb  near  Woodstock,"  which  were  .published 


MEMOIR    OF    MRS.  HEMANS.  247 

"  Mr.  Tighe  has  just  sent  me  his  Latin  translation 
of  my  lines,  *  The  Graves  of  a  Household.'  It  seems 
very  elegant,  as  far  as  I  can  venture  to  judge,  but 
what  strikes  me  most  is  the  concluding  thought,  (so 
peculiarly  belonging  to  Christianity),  and  the  ancient 
language  in  which  it  is  thus  embodied:  — 

'Si  nihil  ulterius  mundo,  si  sola  voluptas 
Esset  terrenis  —  quid  feret  omnis  AmorT 

"  I  suppose  the  idea  of  an  affection,  powerful  and 
spiritual  enough  to  overcome  the  grave  (of  course  the 
beauty  of  such  an  idea  belongs  not  to  me,  but  to  the 
spirit  of  our  faith),  is  not  to  be  found  in  the  loftiest 
strain  of  any  classic  writer." 

Under  the  influence  of  similar  feelings  with  those 
expressed  in  the  last  quotation,  Mrs.  Hemans  thus 
alluded  to  her  own  lyric — "  The  Death  Song  of  Alces- 
tis,"  which  was  written  at  this  time. 

"  It  was  with  some  difficulty  that  I  refrained  from 
making  Alcestis  express  the  hope  of  an  immortal  re- 
union :  I  know  this  would  be  out  of  character,  and  yet 
could  scarcely  imagine  how  love,  so  infinite  in  its 

in  the  National  Lyrics.  The  same  train  of  feeling  may  be 
traced  in  both — the  same  "  mournful  iteration." 

"  O  love  and  song !  though  of  heaven  your  powers, 
Dark  is  your  fate  in  this  world  of  ours." 

But  in  each  solemn  picture,  "  the  day-spring  from  on  high"  breaks 
through  the  "  mists  of  earth ;"  and  "  visions  of  brighter  things" 
win  us  to  heavenly  contemplation. 

The  sonnet  "  On  Records  of  immature  Genius,"  (published  in 
Mrs.  Hemans's  Poetical  Remains'),  was  written  after  reading 
some  of  the  earlier  poems  of  Mrs.  Tighe,  which  had  been  lent 
to  her  in  MS. 


248  MEMOIR    OP    MRS.  HEMANS. 

nature,  could  ever  have  existed  without  the  hope 
(even  if  undefined  and  unacknowledged)  of  a  heavenly 
country,  an  unchangeable  resting-place.  This  awoke 
in  me  many  other  thoughts  with  regard  to  the  state 
©f  human  affections,  their  hopes  and  their  conflicts  in 
the  days  of  '  the  gay  religions,  full  of  pomp  and  gold/ 
which,  offering,  as  they  did,  so  much  of  grace  and 
beauty  to  the  imagination,  yet  held  out  so  little  com- 
fort to  the  heart.  Then  I  thought  how  much  these 
affections  owed  to  a  deeper  and  more  spiritual  faith, 
to  the  idea  of  a  God  who  knows  all  our  inward  strug- 
gles, and  pities  our  sufferings.  I  think  I  shall  weave 
all  these  ideas  into  another  little  poem,  which  I  will 
call  Love  in  the  Ancient  World." l 

"I  do  not  think  I  mentioned  to  you  having  seen 
at  Woodstock  a  large  and  beautifully  painted  copy  of 
Raphael's  '  Great  Madonna,9  as  it  is  called — the  one 
at  Dresden.  I  never  was  enabled  to  form  so  perfect 
an  idea  of  this  noble  work  before.  The  principal 
figure  certainly  looks  like  the  '  Queen  of  Heaven,'  as 
she  stands  serenely  upon  her  footstool  of  clouds ;'  but 
there  is,  I  think,  rather  a  want  of  human  tenderness 
in  her  calm  eyes,  and  on  her  regal  brow.  I  visited 
yesterday  another  lovely  place,  some  miles  from  us — 

1  This  design  was  afterwards  partly,  and  but  partly,  fulfilled, 
in  the  Antique  Greek  Lament,  which  was  intended  as  one  of  a 
series  of  poems,  illustrating-  the  insufficiency  of  aught  but  Chris- 
tianity to  heal  and  comfort  the  broken  in  heart ;  and  its  all-sus- 
taining aid  to  those,  "  who,  going  through  this  vale  of  misery, 
use  it  for  a  well,"  and  apply  to  its  living  waters  for  "  the  strength- 
ening and  refreshing  of  their  souls." 


MEMOIR    OF    MRS.    HEMANS.  249 

Kilfane;  quite  in  a  different  style  of  beauty  from 
Woodstock — soft,  rich,  and  pastoral-looking.  Such  a 
tone  of  verdure,  I  think,  I  never  beheld  anywhere : 
It  was  quite  an  emerald  darkness,  a  gorgeous  gloom 
brooding  over  velvet  turf,  and  deep  silent  streams, 
from  such  trees  as  I  could  fancy  might  have  grown  in 
Armida's  enchanted  wood.  Some  swans  upon  the 
dark  waters  made  me  think  of  that  line  of  Spenser's, 
in  which  he  speaks  of  the  fair  Una,  as 

*  Making  a  sunshine  in  the  shady  place.' 

The  graceful  play  of  water-birds  is  always  particu- 
larly delightful  to  me  ; — those  bright  creatures  convey 
to  my  fancy  a  fuller  impression  of  the  joy  of  freedom 
than  any  others  in  nature — perhaps  because  they  are 
lords  of  two  elements." 


"  I  heard  a  beautiful  remark  made  by  the  Chief- 
Justice,  when  I  met  him  at  Kilfane.  I  think  it  was 
with  regard  to  some  of  Canova's  beautiful  sculpture 
in  the  room,  that  he  said — '  Is  not  perfection  always 
affecting  V  I  thought  he  was  quite  right ;  for  the 
highest  degree  of  beauty  in  any  art  certainly  always 
excites,  if  not  tears,  at  least  the  inward  feeling  of 
tears."  l 

1  "  Is  that  strong-  passion  for  intellectual  beauty  a  happy  or  a 
mournful  gift,  when  so  out  of  harmony  with  the  rest  of  our 
earthly  lot  ]  Sometimes  I  think  of  it  in  sadness,  but  oflener  it 
seems  to  me  as  a  sort  of  rainbow,  made  up  of  light  and  tears, 
yet  still  the  pledge  of  happiness  to  come."  —  From  one  of  Mrs. 
Hemans's  letters,  written  in  1829. 


250  MEMOIR    OF    MRS.  HEMANS. 

"  I  will  now  describe  to  you  the  scene  I  mentioned 
in  my  last  letter,  as  having  so  much  impressed  me. 
It  was  a  little  green  hill,  rising  darkly  and  abruptly 
against  a  very  sunny  background  of  sloping  corn- 
fields and  woods.  It  appeared  smooth  till  near  the 
summit,  but  was  there  crested  —  almost  castellated 
indeed — by  what  I  took  for  thickly-set,  pointed  rocks ; 
but,  on  a  nearer  approach,  discovered  to  be  old  tomb- 
stones, forming  quite  a  little  *  city  of  the  silent/  I 
left  our  car  to  explore  it,  and  discovered  some  ruins 
of  a  very  affecting  character:  a  small  church  laid 
open  to  the  sky,  forsaken  and  moss-grown  ;  its  font 
lying  overturned  on  the  green  sod ;  some  of  the  rude 
monuments  themselves  but  ruins.  One  of  these, 
which  had  fallen  amongst  thick  heath  and  wild-flow- 
ers, was  simply  a  wooden  cross,  with  a  female  name, 
and  the  inscription  —  *  May  her  soul  rest  in  peace!' 
You  will  not  wonder  at  the.  feeling  which  prompted 
me  to  stoop  and  raise  it  up  again.  My  memory  will 
often  revert  to  that  lonely  spot,  sacred  to  the  hope  of 
immortality,  and  touched  by  the  deep  quiet  of  the 
evening  skies." 

"Kilkenny  is  a  singular-looking  old  place,  full  of 
ruins,  or  rather  fragments  of  ruins,  bits  of  old  towers 
and  abbey- windows ;  and  its  wild  lazzaroni-looking 
population  must,  I  should  think,  be  tremendous  when 
in  a  state  of  excitement.  Many  things  in  the  condi- 
tion of  this  country,  even  during  its  present  temporary 
quiet,  are  very  painful  to  English  feeling.  It  is 
scarcely  possible  to  conceive  bitterness  and  hatred 
existing  in  the  human  heart,  when  one  sees  nature 


MEMOIR    OF    B1RS.  HEMANS.  251 

smiling  so  brightly  and  so  peacefully  all  around;  and 
yet  those  dark  feelings  do  exist  here  to  a  degree 
which  I  could  not  have  credited ;  and  religious  ani- 
mosities are  carried  to  a  height  which  sometimes  pain- 
fully reminds  me  of  Moore's  lines,  where  he  speaks  of 
the  land  in  which 

*  hearts  fell  off  that  ought  to  twine, 

And  man  profaned  what  God  had  given; 
Till  some  were  heard  to  curse  the  shrine, 
Where  others  knelt  to  Heaven.' " 

Early  in  the  autumn  of  1831,  Mrs.  Hemans  took 
up  her  abode  in  Dublin,  where  she  at  first  resided  in 
Upper  Pembroke  Street.  The  two  elder  boys  of  those 
still  with  her,  had  been  already  placed  at  school,  under 
the  care  of  the  Rev.  Dr.  Gwynne,  of  Castleknock ; 
and  her  son  Charles  had  the  great  privilege  of  having 
his  education  superintended  by  Mr.  (now  the  Rever- 
end) R.  P.  Graves,  then  a  student  at  Trinity  College, 
from  whose  valuable  instruction  he  derived  advantages 
far  more  permanent  and  important  than  any  acquisi- 
tions of  mere  worldly  learning.  Mrs.  Hemans  entered 
very  little  into  the  general  society  of  Dublin,  but 
enjoyed,  with  a  few  real  and  attached  friends,  that 
kindly  intercourse  most  congenial  to  her  tastes  and 
habits.  Amongst  these  friends  must  be  particularly 
mentioned  the  Graves  family,  their  venerable  rela- 
tives Dr. l  and  Mrs.  Perceval,  the  household  circle  of 

1  The  Sonnet  «'  To  an  aged  Friend,"  published  in  Mrs.  He- 
mans's  Poetical  Remains,  was  addressed  to  Dr.  Perceval.  Its 
beginning, — 

"  Not  long  thy  voice  amongst  us  may  be  heard, 
Servant  of  God !  thy  day  is  almost  done," — 


252  MEMOIR    OF    MRS.  HEMANS. 

Colonel  D'Aquilar,  and  that  of  Professor,  now  Sir  Wil- 
liam Hamilton. 

From  an  early  period  of  intimacy  she  received  the 
most  friendly  attentions  from  the  Archbishop  of  Dub- 
lin, and  Mrs.  Whateley,  whose  subsequent  kindness 
can  never  be  forgotten;  and  she  had  great  interest 
and  pleasure  in  the  acquaintance  of  Mr.  Blanco  White, 
who  was  at  that  time  their  inmate ;  his  delightful  con- 
versational powers  yet  unimpaired  by  the  infirm  health 
which  has  now  unfortunately  withdrawn  him  from 
society.  Few  individuals,  as  she  was  herself  always 
foremost  to  acknowledge,  were  ever  blessed  with  more 
zealous  and  devoted  friends  than  Mrs.  Hemans ;  and 
if,  in  these  slight  memorials,  little  has  been  said  of  the 
constant  solace  and  support  she  derived  from  the  min- 
istering affection  of  her  brothers,  it  is  because  the 
gentle  charities  of  domestic  life  are  things  too  sacred 
to  be  held  up  to  the  public ;  and  because  all  who  per- 
sonally knew  her,  knew  from  her  continual  and  grate- 
ful allusions  to  it,  that  their  kindness  was  "  a  foun- 
tain"— 

"Whose  only  business  was  to  flow, 
And  flow  it  did;  not  taking  heed 
Of  its  own  bounty,  or  her  need ;" 

must  be  read  with  affecting  interest  by  those  who  know  that  that 
voice  is  still  heard,  though  feebly  and  failingly,  —  whilst  the 
"  Daughter  of  Music'1  has  long  been  laid  low.  The  sonnet '  To 
the  Datura  Arborea,"  in  the  same  volume,  was  written  after  see- 
ing a  superb  specimen  of  that  striking  plant,  in  Dr.  Perceval's 
beautiful  greenhouse  at  Annefield. 

Dr.  Perceval  died  3d  March,  1839,  shortly  after  the  above  note 
was  written. 


MEMOIR    OF    MRS.  HEMANS.  253 

Soon  after  her  establishment  in  the  Irish  capital, 
Mrs.  Hemans  had  an  opportunity  of  hearing  the  won- 
derful performances  of  Paganini ;  and  how  completely 
she  was  wrought  upon  by  the  mighty  master,  will  be 
seen  by  the  following  letters : — 

"  To  begin  with  the  appearance  of  the  foreign  won- 
der. It  is  very  different  from  what  the  indiscrimina- 
ting  newspaper  accounts  would  lead  you  to  suppose  : 
he  is  certainly  singular-looking,  pale,  slight,  and  with 
long,  neglected  hair ;  but  I  saw  nothing  whatever  of 
that  wild-fire,  that  almost  ferocious  inspiration  of  mien, 
which  has  been  ascribed  to  him.  Indeed,  I  thought 
the  expression  of  his  countenance  rather  that  of  good- 
natured  and  mild  enjouement,  than  of  any  thing  else ; 
and  his  bearing  altogether  simple  and  natural.  His 
first  performance  consisted  of  a  Tema  with  variations, 
from  the  beautiful  Preghiera  in  'Mose;9  here  I  was 
rather  disappointed,  but  merely  because  he  did  not 
play  alone.  I  suppose  the  performance  on  the  single 
string  required  the  support  of  other  instruments ;  but 
he  occasionally  drew  from  that  string  a  tone  of  wail- 
ing, heart-piercing  tenderness,  almost  too  much  to  be 
sustained  by  any  one  whose  soul  can  give  the  full 
response.  It  was  not,  however,  till  his  second  per- 
formance, on  all  the  strings,  that  I  could  form  a  full 
idea  of  his  varied  magic.  A  very  delicate  accompa- 
niment on  the  piano  did  not  in  the  least  interfere  with 
the  singleness'  of  effect  in  this  instance.  The  subject 
was  the  Venetian  air  '  Oh  !  come  to  me  when  daylight 
sets.'  How  shall  I  give  you  an  idea  of  all  the  versa- 
tility, the  play  of  soul,  embodied  in  the  variations 
upon  that  simple  air  1  Imagine  a  passage  of  the  most 

VOL.  I. 22 


254  MEMOIR    OP    MRS.  HEMANS. 

fairy-like  delicacy,  more  aerial  than  you  would  sup- 
pose it  possible  for  human  touch  to  produce,  suddenly 
succeeded  by  an  absolute  parody  of  itself;  the  same 
notes  repeated  with  an  expression  of  really  comic 
humour,  which  forced  me  to  laugh,  however  reluc- 
tantly. It  was  as  if  an  old  man,  the  '  Ancient  Mari- 
ner' himself,  were  to  sing  an  impassioned  Italian  air, 
in  a  snoring  voice,  after  Pasta.  Well,  after  one  of 
these  sudden  travesties,1  for  I  can  call  them  nothing 
else,  the  creature  would  look  all  around  him,  with  an 
air  of  the  most  delighted  bonhommie,  exactly  like  a 
witty  child,  who  has  just  accomplished  a  piece  of  suc- 
cessful mischief.  The  pizzicato  passages  were  also 
wonderful ;  the  indescribably  rapid  notes  seemed  flung 
out  in  sparks  of  music,  with  a  triumphant  glee  which 
conveys  the  strongest  impression  I  ever  received,  of 
genius  rejoicing  over  its  own  bright  creations.  But  I 
vainly  wish  that  my  words  could  impart  to  you  a  full 
"conception  of  this  wizard-like  music. 

"  There  was  nothing  else  of  particular  interest  in 
the  evening's  performance: — a  good  deal  of  silvery 
warbling  from  Stockhausen ;  but  I  never  find  it  leave 
any  more  vivid  remembrance  on  my  mind  than  the 
singing  of  birds.  I  am  wrong,  however ;  I  must  except 
one  thing,  *  Napoleon's  Midnight  Review,'  the  music 
of  which,  by  Neukomm,  I  thought  superb.  The  words 
are  translated  from  the  German  :  they  describe  the 
hollow  sound  of  a  drum  at  midnight,  and  the  peal  of 
a  ghostly  trumpet,  arousing  the  dead  hosts  of  Napoleon 
from  their  sleep  under  the  northern  snows,  and  along 

1  Wordsworth. 


MEMOIR    OF    MRS.  HEMANS.  255 

the  Egyptian  sands,  and  in  the  sunny  fields  of  Italy. 
Then  another  trumpet-blast,  and  the  chief  himself 
arises,  '  with  his  martial  cloak  around  him,'  to  review 
the  whole  army ;  and  thus  it  concludes — 

« « France !'  'tis  their  watchword  ;  and  again, 
The  pass- word, 'St.  Helene  !' ' 

The  music,  which  is  of  a  very  wild,  supernatural 
character,  a  good  deal  in  Weber's  incantation  style, 
accords  well  with  this  grand  idea :  the  single  trumpet, 
followed  by  a  long,  rolling,  ominous  sound  from  the 
double  drum,  made  me  quite  thrill  with  indefinable 
feelings." 

"  I  inclose  you  a  programme  of  the  concert  at  which 
I  again  heard  this  triumphant  music  last  night.  It  is 
impossible  for  me  to  describe  how  much  of  intense 
feeling  its  full-swelling  dreamy  tones  awoke  within 
me.  His  second  performance  (the  Adagio  a  doppio 
corde)  made  me  imagine  that  I  was  then  first  waken- 
ing in  what  a  German  would  call  the  '  music -land.' 
Its  predominant  expression  was  that  of  overpowering, 
passionate  regret;  such,  at  least,  was  the  dying  lan- 
guor of  the  long  sostenuto  notes,  that  it  seemed  as  if 
the  musician  was  himself  about  to  let  fall  his  instru- 
ment, and  sink  under  the  mastery  of  his  own  emotion. 
It  reminded  me,  by  some  secret  and  strange  analogy, 
of  a  statue  I  once  described  to  you,  representing  Sap- 
pho about  to  drop  her  lyre,  in  utter  desolation  of  heart. 
This  was  immediately  followed  by  the  rapid,  flashing 
music — for  the  strings  were  as  if  they  sent  out  light- 
ning in  their  glee — of  the  most  joyous  rondo  by  Kreut- 
zer  you  can  imagine.  The  last  piece,  the  '  Dance  of 


256  MEMOIR    OF    MRS.  HEMANS. 

the  Witches/  is  a  complete  exemplification  of  the 
grotesque  in  music.  Some  parts  of  it  imitate  the 
quavering,  garrulous  voices  of  very  old  women,  half- 
complaining,  and  then  would  come  a  burst  of  wild, 
fantastic,  half-fearful  gladness.  I  think  Burns's  *  Tarn 
O'Shanter'  (not  Mr.  Thorn's — by  way  of  contrast  to 
Sappho),  something  of  a  parallel  in  poetry  to  this 
strange  production  in  music.  I  saw  more  of  Paga- 
nini's  countenance  last  night,  and  was  still  more  pleased 
with  it  than  before  ;  the  original  mould  in  which  it 
has  been  cast,  is  of  a  decidedly  fine  and  intellectual 
character,  though  the  features  are  so  worn  by  the 
wasting  fire  which  appears  his  vital  element." 


"  I  did  not  hear  Paganini  again  after  the  perform- 
ance I  described  to  you,  but  I  have  received  a  very 
eloquent  description  of  a  subsequent  triumph  of  his 
genius.  It  was  a  concerto,  of  a  dramatic  character, 
and  intended,  as  I  was  told,  to  embody  the  little  tale 
of  a  wanderer  sinking  to  sleep  in  a  solitary  place  at 
midnight.  He  is  supposed  to  be  visited  by  a  solemn 
and  impressive  vision,  imaged  in  music  of  the  most 
thrilling  style.  Then,  after  all  his  lonely  fears  and 
wild  fantasies,  the  day-spring  breaks  upon  him  in  a 
triumphant  rondo,  and  all  is  joy  and  gladness." 

« related  to  me  a  most  interesting  conver- 
sation he  had  held  with  Paganini  in  a  private  circle. 
The  latter  was  describing  to  him  the  sufferings  (do 
you  remember  a  line  of  Byron's, 

*The  starry  Galileo,  with  his  woesT) 
by  which  he  pays  for  his  consummate  excellence.   He 


MEMOIR    OF    MRS.  HEMANS.  257 

scarcely  knows  what  sleep  is,  and  his  nerves  are 
wrought  to  such  almost  preternatural  acuteness,  that 
harsh,  even  common  sounds,  are  often  torture  to  him : 
he  is  sometimes  unable  to  bear  a  whisper  in  his  room. 
His  passion  for  music  he  described  as  an  all-absorbing, 
a  consuming  one :  in  fact,  he  looks  as  if  no  other  life 
than  that  ethereal  one  of  melody  were  circulating  in 
his  veins  :  but  he  added,  with  a  glow  of  triumph  kin- 
dling through  deep  sadness — '  mais  c'est  un  don  du 
del.'  I  heard  all  this,  which  was  no  more  than  I  had 
fully  imagined,  with  a  still  deepening  conviction,  that 
it  is  the  gifted,  beyond  all  others — those  whom  the 
multitude  believe  to  be  rejoicing  in  their  own  fame, 
strong  in  their  own  resources — who  have  most  need 
of  true  hearts  to  rest  upon,  and  of  hope  in  God  to 
support  them." 

In  the  course  of  the  same  autumn,  Mrs.  Hemans 
made  an  excursion  into  the  County  of  Wicklow,  some 
records  of  which  appear  in  the  following  extracts : 

"  I  was  very  unwell  for  some  days  after  my  arrival 
here,  as  the  mountains  gave  me  such  a  stormy  recep- 
tion, that  I  reached  this  place  with  the  dripping  locks 
of  a  mermaid,  and  never  was  in  a  condition  so  utterly 
desolate.  In  the  midst  of  my  annoyances  from  the 
rain  and  storm,  I  was  struck  by  one  beautiful  effect 
upon  the  hills ;  it  was  produced  by  a  rainbow  diving 
down  into  a  gloomy  mountain  pass,  which  it  seemed 
really  to  flood  with  its  coloured  glory.  I  could  not 
help  thinking  that  it  was  like  our  religion,  piercing 
and  carrying  brightness  into  the  depth  of  sorrow  and 
of  the  tomb.  All  the  rest  of  the  scene  around  that 
one  illumined  spot,  was  wrapt  in  the  most  lowering 
22* 


258  MEMOIR    OF    MRS.  HEMANS. 

darkness.  My  impressions  of  the  country  here  have 
not  hitherto  been  very  bright  ones ;  but  I  will  not  yet 
judge  of  it : — the  weather  is  most  un'favourable,  and  I 
have  not  quite  recovered  the  effect  of  my  first  day's 
adventures.  The  day  before  yesterday  we  visited  the 
Vale  of  the  Seven  Churches  and  Lake  Glendalough ; 
the  day  was  one  of  a  kind  which  I  like — soft,  still,  and 
grey, — such  as  makes  the  earth  appear  '  a  pensive  but 
a  happy  place.'  I  was  a  little  disappointed  in  the 
scenery.  I  think  it  possesses  much  more  for  the 
imagination  than  the  eye,  though  there  are  certainly 
some  striking  points  of  view ;  particularly  that  where 
4  a  round  tower  of  other  days'  rises  amidst  the  remains 
of  three  churches,  the  principal  one  of  which  (con- 
sidered, I  find,  as  quite  the  Holy  of  Holies),  is  thickly 
surrounded  with  tombs.  I  was  also  much  pleased  with 
a  little  wild  waterfall,  quite  buried  among  the  trees. 
Its  many  cascades  fell  into  pools  of  a  dark  green  trans- 
parency, and  in  one  of  these  I  observed  what  seemed 
to  me  a  remarkable  effect.  The  body  of  water  threw 
itself  into  its  deep  bed  with  scarcely  any  spray,  and 
left  an  almost  smooth  and  clear  surface,  through 
which,  as  if  through  ice,  I  saw  its  foamy  clouds  rising 
and  working  tumultuously  from  beneath.  In  follow- 
ing the  course  of  this,  fall,  down  very  slippery,  mossy 
stones,  I  received  from  our  guide  (a  female),  the  very 
flattering  compliment  of  being  '  the  most  courageousest 
and  lightest-footedest  lady'  she  had  ever  conducted 
there.  We  afterwards  went  upon  the  lake,  the  dark 
waters  and  treeless  shores  of  which  have  something 
impressive  in  their  stern  desolation,  though  I  do  not 
think  the  rocks  quite  high  enough  for  grandeur. 


MEMOIR    OF    MRS.  HEMANS.  259 

Several  parties  have  been  arranged  for  me  to  visit 
other  celebrated  scenes  in  the  neighbourhood,  but  I  do 
not  think  that  St.  Kevin,  who,  I  suppose,  presides  over 
the  weather  here,  seems  more  propitious  to  female 
intrusion  than  of  old." 


"  It  is  time  that  I  should  tell  you  something  of  my 
adventures  among  these  wild  hills  since  I  last  wrote. 
I  must  own  that  the  scenery  still  disappoints  me, 
though  I  do  not  dare  to  make  the  confession  openly. 
There  certainly  are  scenes  of  beauty,  lying  deep,  like 
veins  of  gold,  in  the  heart  of  the  country,  but  they 
must,  like  those  veins,  be  sought  through  much  that 
is  dreary  and  desolate.  I  have  been  more  struck 
with  the  Devil's  Glen  (I  wish  it  had  any  other  name), 
than  all  the  other  spots  I  have  visited ;  it  is  certainly 
a  noble  ravine,  a  place  where  you  might  imagine  the 
mountain  Christians  of  old  making  their  last  stand, 
fighting  the  last  battle  of  their  faith — a  deep  glen  of 
rocks,  cleft  all  through  by  a  sounding  stream,  of  that 
clear  brown  '  cairn-gorm'  colour,  which  I  think  Sir 
Walter  somewhere  describes  as  being  among  the  cha- 
racteristics of  mountain  waters. 

"  To-day  has  been  one  of  most  perfect  loveliness. 
I  enjoyed  the  change  of  the  wild  rough  mountains 
for  the  softer  wood  landscapes,  as  we  approached 
Powerscourb  I  think  I  love  wood  scenery  best  of 
all  others,  for  its  kindly  look  of  shelter." 


"  I  returned  to  the  country,"  wrote  Mrs.  Hemans, 
after  this  excursion,  "  rather  wearied  than  refreshed, 
as  I  unfortunately  found  myself  an  object  of  much 


260  MEMOIR    OF    MRS.  HEMANS. 

curiosity,  and,  in  gratitude  I  ought  to  add,  attention; 
still  it  fatigued  my  spirits,  which  were  longing  for 
full  and  quiet  communion  with  nature.  On  my  return 
to  Dublin,  I  became  a  sufferer  from  the  longest  and 
severest  attack  of  heart  palpitation  I  have  ever  expe- 
rienced;  it  was  accompanied  by  almost  daily  fainting 
fits,  and  a  languor  quite  indescribable.  From  this 
state  I  have  again  arisen,  and  that  with  an  elasticity 
which  has  surprised  myself." 

A  few  weeks  afterwards,  she  thus  wrote  of  her- 
self:— 

"  Your  kind  long  letter  found  me  quite  alone :  my 
brother  had  taken  my  elder  boys  to  pass  their  holi- 
days at  Killaloe,  and  even  little  Charles  was  gone  on 
a  visit  for  a  few  days,  which  I  could  not  be  selfish 
enough  to  refuse  him.  But  I  can  give  you  a  better 
account  of  myself  than  has  for  a  long  time  been  in 
my  power :  my  spirits  and  health  are  both  greatly 
revived;  and  though  I  am  yet  unequal  to  any  con- 
tinuous exertion  of  mind,  still  I  am  not  without  hope, 
that  if  I  go  on  improving,  all  my  energies  may  be 
restored  to  me." 

*  #  *  *  # 

"  You  ask  me  what  I  have  been  reading  lately  : 
the  access  to  new  books  here  is  not  nearly  as  easy  as 
in  England,  at  least  for  me;  and,  in  consequence,  I 
have  been  much  thrown  back  upon  our  old  friends, 
especially  the  Germans — Goethe,  and  Schiller,  and 
Oehlenschliiger  more  particularly — and  I  think  I  love 
them  more  and  more  for  every  perusal,  so  that  I  can- 
not regret  the  causes  which  have  rendered  my  con- 
nexion with  them  more  intimate  than  ever," 


MEMOIR    OF    MRS.  HEMANS.  261 

The  improved  health  announced  in  the  above  let- 
ter, was,  unfortunately,  of  very  short  continuance.  In 
another,  written  not  long  afterwards,  she  describes 
herself  as  having  just  recovered  from  "  a  weary  low 
fever,  from  which  I  think  I  should  scarcely  have 
revived,  had  not  my  spirits  been  calmer,  and  my  mind 
happier,  than  has  for  some  years  been  the  case. 
During  part  of  the  time,  when  I  could  neither  read 
nor  listen  to  reading,  I  lay  very  meekly  upon  the  sofa, 
reciting  to  myself  almost  all  the  poetry  I  have  ever 
read.  I  composed  two  or  three  melodies  also,  but 
having  no  one  here  who  can  help  me  to  catch  the 
fugitives,  they  have  taken  flight  irrecoverably.  I  have 
lately  written  what  I  consider  one  of  my  best  pieces 
— '  A  Poet's  dying  Hymn.'  It  appeared  in  the  last 
number  of  Blackwood." 

It  is  impossible  to  read  this  affecting  poem  without 
feeling  how  distinctly  it  breathes  the  inward  echoes 
of  the  soul  to  the  frequent  warnings  of  the  Summoner; 
those  presentiments  which  must  have  long  silently 
possessed  her,  here  for  the  first  time  finding  utterance. 
Still  more  strongly  does  it  evidence  that  subdued  and 
serene  frame  of  mind,  into  which  her  once  vivacious 
temperament  and  painfully  vibrating  sensibilities  were 
now  so  gently  and  happily  subsiding.  A  delight  in 
sacred  literature,  and  particularly  in  the  writings  of 
some  of  our 'old  divines,  became  from  henceforward 
her  predominant  taste ;  and  her  earnest  and  diligent 
study  of  the  Scriptures  was  a  well-spring  of  daily 
increasing  comfort.  In  these  pursuits  she  derived 
invaluable  assistance  and  encouragement  from  the 


262  MEMOIR    OF    MRS.  HEMANS. 

friend  already  mentioned  as  so  kindly  directing  the 
education  of  her  son  Charles.  She  now  sought  no 
longer  to  forget  her  trials — ("  wild  wish  and  longing 
vain  !"  as  such  attempts  must  ever  have  proved) — but 
rather  to  contemplate  them  through  the  only  true  and 
reconciling  medium  ;  and  that  relief  from  sorrow  and 
suffering  for  which  she  had  once  been  apt  to  turn  to 
the  fictitious  world  of  imagination,  was  now  afforded 
her  by  calm  and  constant  meditation  on  what  can 
alone  be  called  "  the  things  that  are" 

It  was  about  this  time  that  a  circumstance  occurred, 
by  which  Mrs.  Hemans  was  greatly  affected  and 
impressed.  A  stranger  one  day  called  at  her  house, 
and  begged  earnestly  to  see  her.  She  was  then  just 
recovering  from  one  of  her  frequent  illnesses,  and  was 
obliged  to  decline  the  visits  of  all  but  her  immediate 
friends.  The  applicant  was  therefore  told  that  she 
was  unable  to  receive  him ;  but  he  persisted  in  en- 
treating for  a  few  minutes'  audience,  with  such  urgent 
importunity,  that  at  last  the  point  was  conceded.  The 
moment  lie  was  admitted,  the  gentleman  (for  such  his 
manner  and  appearance  declared  him  to  be),  explained, 
in  words  and  tones  of  the  deepest  feeling,  that  the 
object  of  his  visit  was  to  acknowledge  a  debt  of  obli- 
gation which  he  could  not  rest  satisfied  without  avow- 
ing— that  to  her  he  owed,  in  the  first  instance,  that 
faith  and  those  hopes  which  were  now  more  precious 
to  him  than  life  itself;  for  that  it  was  by  reading  her 
poem  of  The  Sceptic  he  had  been  first  awakened 
from  the  miserable  delusions  of  infidelity,  and  induced 
to  "  search  the  Scriptures."  Having  poured  forth  his 
thanks  and  benedictions  in  an  uncontrollable  gush  of 


MEMOIR    OF    MRS.    HEMANS.  263 

emotion,  this  strange,  but  interesting  visitant  took  his 
departure,  leaving  her  overwhelmed  with  a  mingled 
sense  of  joyful  gratitude  and  wondering  humility. 

The  following  letter  was  written  during  the  awful 
visitation  of  cholera  in  Dublin,  in  the  summer  of  1832  : 
— "  I  cannot  describe  to  you  the  strange  thrill  that 
came  over  me,  when,  on  accidentally  going  to  the 
window  yesterday,  I  saw  one  of  the  black  covered 
litters,  which  convey  the  cholera  patients  to  the  hos- 
pital, passing  by,  followed  by  policemen  with  sabres 
in  their  hands.  This  last  precaution  is  necessary  to 
guard  the  litters  from  the  infatuated  populace,  who 
imagine  that  the  physicians  are  carrying  on  some 
nefarious  work  (smothering  is,  I  believe,  their  favour- 
ite theory)  within  the  vehicle.  But  the  sight  I  have 
described  to  you  was  so  like  the  actual  presence  of 
some  dark  power  sweeping  past,  that  I  was  for  the 
moment,  completely  overcome ; — and  oh  !  the  strange 
contrasts  of  life !  there  were  May-dancers  in  the 
street  scarcely  a  moment  afterwards !  Notwithstand- 
ing the  sick  sensation  of  which  I  have  spoken,  my 
spirits  are  perfectly  composed,  and  I  have  not  the 
least  intention  of  taking  flight,  which  many  families 
are  now  doing.  To  me  there  is  something  extremely 
solemnizing,  something  which  at  once  awes  and  calms 
the  spirit,  instead  of  agitating  it,  in  the  presence  of 
this  viewless  danger,  between  which  and  ourselves,  we 
cannot  but  feel  that  the  only  barrier  is  the  mercy 
of  God.  I  never  felt  so  penetrated  by  the  sense  of 
an  entire  dependence  upon  Him  ;  and  though  I  adopt 
some  necessary  precautions  on  account  of  Charles,  my 
rnind  is  in  a  state  of  entire  serenity." 


264  MEMOIR    OF    MRS.  HEMANS. 

The  difficulty  of  keeping  up  any  thing  like  regular 
correspondence,  and  the  fear  that  her  old  friends 
might  consequently  think  her  negligent  or  ungrateful, 
would  press  upon  her,  at  times,  very  painfully. 

"  You  have  judged  me  rightly  and  kindly,"  she 
wrote  to  one  always  considerate  and  indulgent.  "  I 
should  have  written  to  you  before,  but  I  have  been  in 
a  state  which  made  writing  most  painful,  and  you 
know  too  well  how  the  calls  for  writing  shower  upon 
me — sometimes  till  my  heart  dies  within  me :  and  what 
I  dread  most  are  the  reproaches  of  those  who  know 
not  how  the  unsupported  and  lonely  one  is  often  borne 
down.  The  state  of  nervous  suffering  through  which 
I  have  passed,  is  now  again  quietly  subsiding.  Yes- 
terday I  was  able  to  go  to  church  and  receive  the 
sacrament,  and  to-day,  I  am  commencing  an  under- 
taking of  which  I  think  you  will  hear  with  pleasure 
— a  volume  of  sacred  poetry.  My  heart  is  much  in 
it,  and  I  hope  to  enshrine  in  its  pages  whatever  I  may 
have  been  endowed  with  of  power  and  melody ;  so 
that,  should  it  be  my  last  work,  it  may  be  a  worthy 
close.  1  was  grieved  to  hear  that  our  dear,  kind  Nor- 
tons  had  been  so  severely  tried;1  but  they  are  still 
blessed  in  each  other — and  what  earthly  happiness 
can  equal,  what  earthly  sorrow  counterbalance,  that 
'full  bliss  of  hearts  allied?'  None — there  is  none. 
Do  say  how  affectionately  I  think  of  them — how  grate- 
fully ; — but  it  is  vain  for  me,  situated  as  I  am,  to  think 
of  keeping  up  distant  correspondences.  My  burthen 
is.  in  these  things,  « greater  than  I  can  bear.' 

1  By  the  loss  of  children,  and  other  dear  relatives. 


MEMOIR    OF    MRS.  HEMANS.  265 

"  I  have  removed  here  (36,  Stephen's  Green),  much 
for  the  sake  of  having  back  rooms,  as  I  suffered 
greatly  from  the  street  noises,  where  I  lived  before.' 



"  I  have  been  in  a  state  of  great  nervous  suffering 
ever  since  I  last  wrote  to  you ;  it  is  as  if  I  felt,  and 
more  particularly  heard,  every  thing  with  unsheathed 
nerves. 

"  There  is  a  line  of  Coleridge's — 

1  Oh !  for  a  sleep,  for  sleep  itself  to  rest  in !' 

I  believe  I  shall  require  some  such  quintessence  of 
repose  to  restore  me.  I  have  several  literary  plans 
for  fulfilment  as  soon  as  my  health  allows.  I  enjoy 
much  more  leisure  here  than  was  the  case  in  England, 
which  is  at  least  one  great  advantage. 

"  My  state  of  health  is  such  as  to  cause  me  fre- 
quently great  distress  and  inconvenience.  I  do  not 
mean  so  much  from  the  actual  suffering  attendant 
upon  it,  as  from  its  making  the  exertion  of  writing 
at  times  not  merely  irksome,  but  positively  painful 
to  me ;  this  is,  I  believe,  caused  entirely  by  irregular 
action  of  the  heart,  which  affects  my  head  with  op- 
pressive fulness,  and  sudden  flushing  of  the  cheeks 
and  temples.  All  my  pursuits  are  thus  constantly  in- 
terfered with ;  but  I  do  not  wish  this  to  convey  to  you 
the  language 'of  complaint ;  I  am  only  anxious  that  it 
should  give  assurance  of  kind  and  grateful  recollec- 
tion ;  that  it  should  convince  you  of  my  being  un- 
changed in  cordial  interest,  and  silent  only  from  causes 
beyond  my  power  to  overrule.'* 

VOL.  I. 23 


266  MEMOIR    OF    MRS.    HEMANS. 

"  In  my  literary  pursuits,  I  fear  I  shall  be  obliged 
to  look  out  for  a  regular  amanuensis.  I  sometimes 
retain  a  piece  of  poetry  several  weeks  in  my  memory, 
from  actual  dread  of  writing  it  down. 

"  How  sorry  I  was,  not  to  see  your  friend  Neukomm  ! 
We  were  playing  at  cross-purposes  the  whole  time  of 
his  stay  in  Dublin  ;  but  I  did  hear  his  organ-playing, 
and  glorious  it  was  —  a  mingling  of  many  powers.  I 
sent,  too,  for  the  volume  you  recommended  to  me  — 
the  Saturday  Evening : — surely  it  is  a  noble  work,  so 
rich  in  the  thoughts  that  create  thoughts.  I  am  so 
glad  you  liked  my  little  summer-breathing  song.1  I 

1  "  The  Summer's  Call."  This  faculty  for  realising  images 
of  the  distant  and  the  beautiful,  amidst  outward  circumstances 
of  apparently  the  most  adverse  influence,  is  thus  gracefully  illus- 
trated by  Washington  Irving  in  the  "  Royal  Poet"  of  his  Sketch- 
book :  —  "  Some  minds  corrode  and  grow  inactive  under  the  loss 
of  personal  liberty ;  others  grow  morbid  and  irritable ;  but  it  is 
the  nature  of  the  poet  to  become  tender  and  imaginative  in  the 
loneliness  of  confinement.  He  banquets  upon  the  honey  of  his 
own  thoughts,  and,  like  the  captive  bird,  pours  forth  his  soul  in 
melody. 

'Have  you  not  seen  the  nightingale, 

A  pilgrim  cooped  into  a  cage, 
How  doth  she  chant  her  wonted  tale, 

In  that  her  lonely  hermitage  ? 
Even  there  her  charming  melody  doth  prove, 
That  all  her  boughs  are  trees,  her  cage  a  grove/  " 

ROGER  L'ESTRANGE. 

Indeed,  it  is  the  divine  attribute  of  the  imagination,  that  it  is 
irrepressible,  unconfinable ;  and  that  when  the  real  world  is  shut 
out,  it  can  create  a  world  for  itself,  and  with  a  necromantic  power 
can  conjure  up  glorious  shapes  and  forms,  and  irradiate  the  gloom 
of  the  dungeon.  Such  was  the  world  of  pomp  and  pageant  that 
lived  round  Tasso  in  his  dismal  cell  at  Ferrara,  when  he  con- 


MEMOIR    OF    MRS.  HEMANS.  267 

assure  you  it  quite  consoled  me  for  the  want  of  natural 
objects  of  beauty  around,  to  heap  up  their  remember- 
ed images  in  one  wild  strain." 

The  mention  of  Neukomm's  magnificent  organ-play- 
ing brings  to  remembrance  one  great  enjoyment  of 
Mrs.  Hemans's  residence  in  Dublin  —  the  exquisite 
"  Music  of  St.  Patrick's,"  of  which  she  has  recorded 
her  impressions  in  the  little  poem  so  entitled.  Its 
effect  is,  indeed,  such  as,  once  heard,  can  never  be 
forgotten.  If  ever  earthly  music  can  be  satisfying, 
it  must  surely  be  such  as  this,  bringing  home  to  our 
bosoms  the  solemn  beauty  of  our  own  holy  liturgy, 
with  all  its  precious  and  endeared  associations,  in 
tones  that  make  the  heart  swell  with  ecstasy,  and  the 
eyes  overflow  with  unbidden  tears.  There  was  one 
anthem,  frequently  heard  within  those  ancient  walls, 
which  Mrs.  Hemans  used  to  speak  of  with  peculiar 
enthusiasm  —  that  from  the  3d  Psalm  —  "Lord,  how 
are  they  increased  that  trouble  me !"  The  consum- 
mate skill  exhibited  in  the  adaptation  of  sound  to 
sense  in  this  noble  composition,  is,  in  truth,  most  ad- 
mirable. The  symphony  to  the  5th  verse  —  "I  laid 
me  down  and  slept" — with  its  soft,  dreamy  vibrations, 
gentle  as  the  hovering  of  an  angel's  wing — the  utter 
abandon,  the  noting  into  slumber — implied  by  the 
half-whispered  words,  that  come  breathing  as  from  a 
world  of  spirits,  almost  "  steep  the  senses  in  forgetful- 

ceived  the  splendid  scenes  of  his  Jerusalem;  and  we  may  con- 
sider The  King's  Quair,  composed  by  James  of  Scotland  during 
his  captivity  at  Windsor,  as  another  of  those  beautiful  breakings 
forth  of  the  soul  from  the  restraint  and  gloom  of  the  prison- 
house." 


268  MEMOIR    OF    MRS.  HEMANS. 

ness ;"  when  a  sudden  outbreak,  as  it  were,  of  life 
and  light,  bursts  forth  with  the  glad  announcement, 
"  I  awaked,  for  the  Lord  sustained  me ;"  and  then  the 
old  sombre  arches  ring  with  an  almost  overpowering 
peal  of  triumph,  bearing  to  Heaven's  gate  the  exult- 
ing chorus  of  the  6th  and  8th  verses. 

The  spring  of  1833  brought  somewhat  of  "healing 
on  its  wings,"  to  the  gentle  invalid,  after  all  the  dis- 
tressing fluctuations  of  the  winter.  "  I  am  sure,"  she 
wrote,  "  you  will  have  real  pleasure  in  hearing  that  1 
begin  to  feel  something  like  symptoms  of  reviving 
health ;  perseverance  in  the  quiescent  system,  which 
seems  almost  essential  to  my  life,  is  producing,  by  slow 
degrees,  the  desired  effect.  You  must  not  think  that 
it  is  my  own  fault  if  this  system  is  ever  departed  from. 
I  desire  nothing  but  a  still,  calm,  meditative  life ;  but 
this  is  exactly  what  my  position,  obliged  as  I  am  to 
*  breast  a  stormy  world  alone,'  most  precludes  me 
from.  Hence,  I  truly  believe,  and  from  no  original 
disorder  of  constitution,  arises  all  that  I  have  to  bear 
of  sickness  and  nervous  agitation.  Certainly,  before 
this  last  and  severest  attack,  I  had  gone  through 
enough  of  annoyance,  and  even  personal  fatigue,  to 
try  a  far  more  robust  frame.  Imagine  three  removals, 
and  those  Irish  removals,  for  me,  between  October 
and  January.  Each  was  unavoidable ;  but  I  am  now, 
I  trust,  settled  with  people  of  more  civilized  habits, 
and  think  myself  likely  to  remain  here  quietly.1  How 
difficult  it  is,  amidst  these  weary,  heart-wearing,  nar- 
row cares,  to  keep  bright  and  pure  the  immortal  spark 

1  This  expectation  was  fully  realized.  The  house  to  which 
she  had  now  removed  (No.  20,  Dawson  Street,)  was  destined  to 
be  her  last  earthly  home. 


MEMOIR    OP    MRS.  HEMANS.  269 

within  !  Yet  I  strive  above  all  things  to  be  true  in 
this 9  and  turn  with  even  deeper  and  more  unswerv- 
ing love  to  the  holy  <  Spirit-land,'  and  guard  it,  with 
more  and  more  of  watchful  care,  from  the  intrusion 
of  all  that  is  heartless  and  worldly." 

There  was,  indeed,  no  fear  that  she  would  ever 
become  "  heartless  or  worldly."  No  part  oT  her  cha- 
racter was  more  remarkable  than  her  placid  indiffer- 
ence to  those  trifling  annoyances,  about  which  the 
unoccupied  and  the  narrow-minded  are  for  ever  "  dis- 
quieting themselves  in  vain."  She  would  often  quote 
the  words  of  Madame  1'Espinasse — "  Un  grand  cha- 
grin tue  tout  le  reste"  "  You  know  it  is  part  of  my 
philosophy,"  she  once  wrote,  in  allusion  to  some  such 
every-day  troubles,  "  not  to  let  these  kind  of  things 
prey  upon  my  peace.  Indeed,  I  believe,  deep  sor- 
rows, such  as  have  been  my  lot  through  life,  have  not 
only  a  tendency  to  elevate,  but  in  some  respects  to 
calm  the  spirit ;  at  least  they  so  fill  it,  as  to  prevent 
the  intrusion  of  little  fretting  cares.  I  have  an  ample 
share  of  these  too,  but  they  shall  not  fret  me." 

It  is  scarcely  necessary  to  dwell  more  emphatically 
than  has  been  already  done,  on  another  strong  trait 
in  her  nature — her  unfeigned  dislike  to  every  thing 
approaching  invidious  personality — to  gossip,  literary 
or  otherwise,  in  any  shape,  however  modified  or  dis- 
guised. Most  warmly  did  she  echo  the  sentiment  of 
Mr.  Wordsworth — 

"I  am  not  one  who  much  or  oft  delight 
To  season  my  fireside  with  personal  talk 
Of  friends  who  live  within  an  easy  walk, 
Of  neighbours,  daily,  weekly  in  my  sight" 
23* 


270  MEMOIR    OF    MRS.  HEMANS. 

The  following  passage  from  Madame  de  StaeTs 
Jlllemagne  might,  with  perfect  truth,  have  been  ap- 
plied to  her,  exemplifying,  as  it  does,  the  natural  kind- 
liness (resulting  from  real  superiority)  which  is,  or 
ought  to  be, -the  unfailing  attribute  of  genius,  and 
which  may  perhaps  be  considered  as  a  counter-balanc- 
ing prerogative  for  that  vain,  quenchless  yearning  for 
sympathy  which  is  but  too  often  its  penalty.  "  II  y  a 
quelquefois  de  la  mechancete  dans  les  gens  d'esprit ; 
mais  le  genie  est  presque  toujours  plein  de  bonte.  La 
mechancete  vient  non  pas  de  ce  qu'on  a  trop  d'esprit, 
mais  de  ce  qu'on  n'a  pas  assez.  Si  1'on  pouvait  par- 
ler  des  ides,  on  laisserait  en  paix  les  personnes ;  si  1'on 
se  croyait  assure  de  1'emporter  sur  les  autres  par  ses 
talens  naturels,  on  ne  chercherait  pas  a  niveler  le  par- 
terre sur  lequel  on  veut  dominer.  II  y  a  des  me'dioc- 
rites  d'ames  deguisees  en  esprit  piquant  et  malicieux ; 
mais  la  vraie  superiorite  est  rayonnante  de  bons  senti- 
mens  comme  de  hautes  pensees." 

"  Do  not  be  surprised  at  these  pencilled  characters/' 
wrote  Mrs.  Hemans  to  a  friend,  after  a  long  silence. 
"  I  am  obliged  to  write  in  a  reclining  posture,  and  can 
only  accomplish  it  by  these  means,  without  much  suf- 
fering. I  pass  a  great  deal  of  my  time  lying  on  the 
sofa,  and  composing  my  sacred  pieces,  in  which  I  do 
hope  you  will  recognise  the  growth  of  a  more  health- 
ful and  sustained  power  of  mind,  which  I  trust  is 
springing  up  within  me,  even  from  the  elements  of 
deepest  suffering.  I  fear  it  will  be  some  time  before 
I  shall  have  completed  a  volume,  as,  notwithstanding 
all  the  retirement  in  which  I  live,  I  have,  I  think, 
more  claims  upon  my  time  and  thoughts  than  ever; 


MEMOIR    OF    MRS.    HEMANS.  271 

and,  alas !  fewer  helps,  to  use  the  expressive  American 
word." 

In  reference  to  a  project  for  having  one  of  her  sons 
initiated  into  mercantile  pursuits,  she  thus  touchingly 
alludes  to  her  own  precarious  state : — "  I  know  not 
that  I  can  make  for  him  any  better  choice;  and  the 
many  warnings  which  my  health  gives  me,  and  the 
increasing  reluctance  of  my  spirit  (which  seems  with- 
drawing itself  more  and  more  from  earthly  things  as 
my  health  declines)  to  cope  with  worldly  difficulties, 
make  me  very  anxious  to'do  what  I  can,  (  whilst  it  is 
yet  day.'"1 

The  following  was  addressed  to  a  dear  friend  in 
Scotland : — "  I  could  not  but  feel  much  affected  by 
your  account  of  the  visit  to  the  tomb  of  your  dear 
children.  A  peculiar  feeling  mingled,  however,  with 
my  sympathy ; — to  me  there  seems  something  almost 

*In  alluding  to  the  same  subject  some  time  afterwards,  she 
thus  expressed  herself  to  a  long-tried  friend  : — "  You  have  heard, 
I  conclude,  that  a  path  has  been  opened  for  Claude  in  America, 
for  which  land  the  poor  fellow  sailed  last  May.  I  the  less  regret- 
ted his  destination  thitherward,  as  his  inclinations  had  always 
been  pointed  decidedly  to  that  country.  I  dare  say  you  remem- 
ber his  statistical  tastes  in  early  childhood ;  they  continued,  or 
indeed  rather  grew  upon  him,  and  rendered  him  far  more  fit  for 
such  a  scene  of  action  than  any  of  his  brothers."  In  the  same 
letter  she  spoke  with  maternal  pride  and  fondness  of  her  son 
Willoughby  (the  "  little  George,"  of  former  days),  then  lately 
returned  from  the  Military  College  at  Soreze,  and  engaged  on 
the  Ordnance  Survey  in  the  North  of  Ireland.  "  His  superiors," 
she  wrote,  "  make  the  best  reports  of  him.  He  never  loses  an 
opportunity  of  writing  me  the  most  affectionate  letters,  and  takes 
a  delight  in  my  poetry,  which,  I  trust,  may  be  attended  with  bel 
ter  and  higher  results  tlian  those  of  mere  delight." 


272  MEMOIR    OF    MRS.  HEMANS. 

blessed,  and  holy,  and  tranquillizing,  in  our  sorrow  for 
the  dead — so  heart-rending  are  at  times  the  struggles 
caused  by  our  passionate  affections  for  the  living. 
With  those  who  are  gone,  *  the  future  cannot  contra- 
dict the  past;'  and,  where  no  self-reproach  is  con- 
nected with  the  memory  of  former  intercourse,  the 
thoughts  arising  from  their  graves  must  all  tend  to  ele- 
vate our  nature  to  the  Father  of  Spirits.  Your  de- 
scription of  your  dear  sister's  life  and  death,  was  full 
of  beauty.  I  remembered  well  the  lovely  picture  I 
had  seen  of  her  in  Edinburgh ;  her  mind  must  indeed 
have  resembled  that  sweet  and  radiant  countenance. 
Such  a  loss  may  well  have  left  a  void  place  in  the 
circle  of  which  she  was  the  central  light. 

"  Alas,  for  our  dear  old  friend,  Sir  Robert  Liston ! 
and  the  lovely  Milburn,  with  all  its  rich  array  of  flow- 
ers! I  think  I  could  scarcely  bear  to  look  on  that 
place  again,  where  I  have  been  so  happy. 

"  I  sincerely  hope  my  kind  friends  the  Alisons  are 
not  to  be  visited  by  any  more  domestic  trials.  What 
a  shock  was  the  removal  of  that  bright,  affectionate 
spirit,  Dr.  James  Gregory  !  Oh,  what  would  this 
world  be,  but  for  the  reflected  light  from  another !" 

The  autumn  of  this  year  (1833)  witnessed  a  happy 
meeting  between  Mrs.  Hemans  and  her  sister  and  bro- 
ther-in-law, after  a  five  years'  separation.  The  rav- 
ages of  sickness  on  her  worn  and  faded  form  were 
painfully  apparent  to  those  who  had  not  seen  her  for 
so  long;  yet  her  spirits  rallied  to  all  their  wonted 
cheerfulness,  and  the  powers  of  her  mind  seemed  more 
vivid  and  vigorous  than  ever.  With  all  her  own  cor- 
dial kindliness,  she  busied  herself  in  forming  various 


MEMOIRS    OF    MRS.    HEMANS.  273 

plans  for  the  interest  and  amusement  of  her  visitcrs ; 
and  many  happy  hours  of  delightful  converse  and  old 
home  communion  were  passed  by  her  and  her  sister 
in  her  two  favourite  resorts,  the  lawn  of  the  once 
stately  mansion  of  the  Duke  of  Leinster  (now  occu- 
pied by  the  Dublin  Society),  and  the  spacious  gardens 
of  Stephen's  Green,  which,  at  certain  times  of  the 
day,  are  almost  as  retired  as  a  private  pleasure-ground. 
There  was  something  in  the  antique  and  foreign  ap- 
pearance of  this  fine  old  square,  which  made  her  pre- 
fer it  to  all  the  magnificence  of  modern  architecture, 
so  conspicuous  in  other  parts  of  Dublin ;  and  she  would 
describe,  with  much  animation,  the  striking  effect  she 
had  often  seen  produced  by  the  picturesque  and  quaint 
outlines  of  its  irregular  buildings,  thrown  into  dark 
relief  by  the  fiery  back-ground  of  a  sunset  sky.  She 
spoke  at  this  time,  with  steadfast  earnestness  of  pur- 
pose, of  the  many  projects  with  which  her  mind  was 
stored,  referring  to  them  all  in  the  same  spirit  which 
dictated,  not  long  afterwards,  what  may  be  considered 
as  a  lasting  record  of  the  intended  dedication  of  her 
powers,  had  it  pleased  God  to  allow  of  her  continuance 
in  this  imperfect  state  of  being.  "  I  have  now,"  are 
her  memorable  words,  "  passed  through  the  feverish 
and  somewhat  visionary  state  of  mind,  often  connected 
with  the  passionate  study  of  art  in  early  life :  deep 
affections  and  deep  sorrows  seem  to  have  solemnized 
my  whole  being,  and  I  now  feel  as  if  bound  to  higher 
and  holier  tasks,  which,  though  I  may  occasionally  lay 
aside,  I  could  not  long  wander  from  without  some  sense 
of  dereliction.  I  hope  it  is  no  self- delusion,  but  I  can- 
not help  sometimes  feeling  as  if  it  were  my  true  task 


274  MEMOIR    OF    MRS.  HEMANS. 

to  enlarge  the  sphere  of  sacred  poetry,  and  extend  its 
influence.  When  you  receive  my  volume  of  Scenes 
and  Hymns,  you  will  see  what  I  mean  by  enlarging 
its  sphere,  though  my  plans  are  as  yet  imperfectly 
developed." 

In  another  letter,  alluding  to  the  same  series  of 
poems,  she  continues  thus : — "  I  regard  it,  however, 
as  an  undertaking  to  be  carried  on  and  thoroughly 
wrought  out  during  several  years ;  as  the  more  I  look 
for  indications  of  the  connexion  between  the  human 
spirit  and  its  eternal  source,  the  more  extensively  I  see 
those  traces  open  before  me,  and  the  more  indelibly 
they  appear  stamped  upon  our  mysterious  nature.  I 
cannot  but  think  that  my  mind  has  both  expanded 
and  strengthened  during  the  contemplation  of  such 
things,  and  that  it  will  thus  by  degrees  arise  to  a 
higher  and  purer  sphere  of  action  than  it  has  yet 
known.  If  any  years  of  peace  and  affection  be 
granted  to  my  future  life,  I  think  I  may  prove  that 
the  discipline  of  storms  has,  at  least,  not  been  without 
a  purifying  and  ennobling  influence." 

Early  in  the  year  1834,  the  little  volume  of  Hymns 
for  Childhood  (which,  though  written  many  years 
before,  had  never  been  published  in  England)1  was 
brought  out  by  Messrs.  Curry  of  Dublin,  who  were 
also  the  publishers  of  the  National  Lyrics,  which 
appeared  in  a  collected  form  about  the  same  time. 


1  They  had  been  printed  at  Boston,  New  England,  in  1827,  at 
the  recommendation,  and  under  the  kind  auspices  of  Professor 
Norton,  to  whom  they  had  been  sent  merely  for  the  use  of  his 
own  children. 


MEMOIR    OF    MRS.  HEMANS.  275 

Of  the  latter,  Mrs.  Hemans  thus  wrote  to  her  friend 
Mrs.  Lawrence,  in  the  note  which  accompanied  the 
volume: — "I  think  you  will  love  my  little  book, 
though  it  contains  but  the  broken  music  of  a  troubled 
heart — for  all  the  hours  it  will  recall  to  you  beam 
fresh  and  bright  as  ever  in  my  memory,  though  I 
have  passed  through  but  too  many  of  sad  and  deep 
excitement,  since  that  period." 

And  of  what  she  called  "  the  fairy  volume  of 
hymns,"  she  wrote  to  the  same  friend : — "  you  will 
immediately  see  how  unpretending  a  little  book  it  is ; 
but  it  will  give  you  pleasure  to  know  that  it  has  been 
received  in  the  most  gratifying  manner,  having  seemed 
(as  a  playful  child  itself  might  have  done)  to  win 
criticism  into  a  benignant  smile." 

The  long-contemplated  collection  of  Scenes  and 
Hymns  of  Life  was  published  soon  after  the  two  little 
volumes  above  alluded  to.  In  her  original  dedication 
of  this  work  to  Mr.  Wordsworth,  Mrs.  Hemans  had 
given  free  scope  to  the  expression  of  her  sentiments, 
not  only  of  veneration  for  the  poet,  but  of  deep  and 
grateful  regard  for  the  friend.  From  a  fear,  however, 
that  delicacy  on  Mr.  Wordsworth's  part  might  prevent 
his  wishing  to  receive  in  a  public  form,  a  testimonial 
of  so  much  private  feeling  from  a  living  individual,  the 
intended  letter  was  suppressed,  and  its  substantial 
ideas  conveyed  in  the  brief  inscription  which  was 
finally  prefixed  to  the  volume.  It  is  now  hoped  that 

1  Some  of  the  most  interesting  pieces  in  this  volume  are  con- 
nected with  associations  of  Wavertree  Hall ;  particularly,  "  Books 
and  Flowers,"  "  The  Haunted  House,"  and  "  O'Connor's  Child." 


276  MEMOIR    OF    MRS.  HEMANS. 

all  such  objections  to  its  publication  have  vanished, 
and  that  the  revered  friend  to  whom  it  was  addressed, 
will  receive  it  as  the  heart-tribute  of  one  to  whom 
flattery  was  unknown — as  consecrated  by  the  solemn 
truth  of  a  voice  from  the  grave. 

Intended  Dedication  of  the  "  Scenes  and  Hymns  of 

Life,"  to  William  Wordsworth,  Esq. 
"  My  dear  Sir, 

"  I  earnestly  wish  that  the  little  volume  here  in- 
scribed to  you,  in  token  of  affectionate  veneration, 
were  pervaded  by  more  numerous  traces  of  those 
strengthening  and  elevating  influences  which  breathe 
from  all  your  poetry  *  a  power  to  virtue  friendly/  I 
wish,  too,  that  such  a  token  could  more  adequately 
convey  my  deep  sense  of  gratitude  for  moral  and 
intellectual  benefit  long  derived  from  the  study  of  that 
poetry — for  the  perpetual  fountains  of  '  serious  faith 
and  inward  glee'  which  I  have  never  failed  to  discover 
amidst  its  pure  and  lofty  regions — for  the  fresh  green 
places  of  refuge  which  it  has  offered  me  in  many  an 
hour  when 

'The  fretful  stir 

Unprofitable,  and  the  fever  of  the  world 
Have  hung  upon  the  beatings  of  my  heart;' 

and  when  I  have  found  in  your  thoughts  and  images 
such  relief  as  the  vision  of  your  '  Sylvan  Wye,5  may, 
at  similar  times,  have  afforded  to  yourself. 

"  May  I  be  permitted,  on  the  present  occasion,  to 
record  my  unfading  recollections  of  enjoyment  from 
your  society — of  delight  in  having  heard  from  your 
own  lips,  and  amidst  your  own  lovely  mountain-land, 


MEMOIR    OF    MRS.  HEMANS.  277 

many  of  these  compositions,  the  remembrance  of 
which  will  ever  spread  over  its  hills  and  waters  a 
softer  colouring  of  spiritual  beauty  ?  Let  me  also 
express  to  you,  as  to  a  dear  and  most  honoured  friend, 
my  fervent  wishes  for  your  long  enjoyment  of  a  widely- 
extended  influence,  which  cannot  but  be  blessed — of 
a  domestic  life,  encircling  you  with  yet  nearer  and 
deeper  sources  of  happiness;  and  of  those  eternal 
hopes,  on  whose  foundation  you  have  built,  as  a  Chris- 
tian poet,  the  noble  structure  of  your  works. 

"  I  rely  upon  your  kindness,  my  dear  Sir,  for  an 
indulgent  reception  of  my  offering,  however  lowly, 
since  you  will  feel  assured  of  the  sincerity  with  which 
it  is  presented  by 

"  Your  ever  grateful  and  affectionate 

"FELICIA  HEMANS." 

The  manner  in  which  this  work  was  received,  was 
calculated  to  inspire  its  author  with  every  feeling  of 
emulation  and  encouragement.  "  I  find  in  the  Atlie,- 
nceum  of  last  week,"  she  wrote,"  "  a  brief,  but  very 
satisfactory  notice  of  the  Scenes  and  Hymns.  The 
volume  is  recognised  as  my  best  work,  and  the  course 
it  opens  out  called  *  a  noble  path/  My  heart  is  grow- 
ing faint — shall  I  have  power  given  me  to  tread  that 
way  much  further  ?  I  trust  that  God  may  make  me 
at  least  submissive  to  his  will,  whatever  that  may  be." 

One  of  the  many  literary  projects  contemplated 
by  Mrs.  Hemans  at  this  time,  was  a  series  of  German 
studies,  consisting  of  translations  of  scenes  and  passages 
from  some  of  the  most  celebrated  German  authors, 
introduced  and  connected  by  illustrative  remarks. 

VOL.  I. 24 


278  MEMOIR    OF    MRS.  HEMANS. 

The  only  one  of  these  papers  which  she  ever  com- 
pleted, was  that  on  Goethe's  Tasso,  published  in  the 
New  Monthly  Magazine  for  January,  1834;  a  paper 
which  well  deserves  attention,  as  it  embodies  so  much 
of  her  individual  feeling  with  respect  to  the  high  and 
sacred  mission  of  the  Poet ;  as  well  as  regarding  that 
mysterious  analogy  between  the  outer  world  of  nature 
and  the  inner  world  of  the  heart,  which  it  was  so 
peculiarly  the  tendency  of  her  writings  to  develope. 
"Not  alone,"  to  quote  her  own  words,  "from  the 
things  of  the  '  everlasting  hills/  from  the  storms  or  the 
silence  of  midnight  skies,  will  he  [the  poet]  seek  the 
grandeur  and  the  beauty  which  have  their  central 
residence  in  a  far  more  majestic  temple.  Mountains 
and  rivers,  and  mighty  woods,  the  cathedrals  of  nature 
— these  will  have  their  part  in  his  pictures ;  but  their 
colouring  and  shadows  will  not  be  wholly  the  gift  of 
rising  or  departing  suns,  nor  of  the  night  with  all  her 
stars;  it  will  be  a  varying  suffusion  from  the  life 
within,  from  the  glowing  clouds  of  thought  and  feeling, 
which  mantle  with  their  changeful  drapery  all  exter- 
nal creation. 

*  We  receive  but  what  we  give, 

And  in  our  life  alone  does  nature  live.' 

Let  the  poet  bear  into  the  recesses  of  woods  and 
shadowy  hills  a  heart  full-fraught  with  the  sympathies 
which  will  have  been  fostered  by  intercourse  with  his 
kind,  a  memory  covered  with  the  secret  inscriptions 
which  joy  and  sorrow  fail  not  indelibly  to  write — then 
will  the  voice  of  every  stream  respond  to  him  in  tones 
of  gladness  or  melancholy,  accordant  with  those  of  his 


MEMOIR    OF    MRS.  HEMANS.  279 

own  soul ;  and  he  himself,  by  the  might  of  feelings 
intensely  human,  may  breathe  the  living  spirit  of  the 
oracle  into  the  resounding  cavern  or  the  whispering 
oak.  We  thus  admit  it  essential  to  his  high  office, 
that  the  chambers  of  imagery  in  the  heart  of  the 
poet  must  be  filled  with  materials  moulded  from  the 
sorrows,  the  affections,  the  fiery  trials,  and  immortal 
longings  of  the  human  soul.  Where  love,  and  faith, 
and  anguish,  meet  and  contend  —  where  the  tones  of 
prayer  are  wrung  from  the  suffering  spirit  —  there  lie 
his  veins  of  treasure  ;  there  are  the  sweet  waters 
ready  to  flow  from  the  stricken  rock." 

The  news  which  arrived  from  India  in  the  summer 
of  this  year  (1834),  of  the  death  of  her  friend  Mrs. 
Fletcher  (the  late  Miss  Jewsbury),  affected  Mrs.  He- 
mans  very  deeply.  The  early  removal  of  this  gifted 
and  high-minded  W7ornan  was,  indeed,  an  event  to 
excite  the  most  sorrowful  and  startling  reflections. 
On  the  1st  of  August,  1832,  she  was  married,  in  a 
little  quiet  church  amongst  the  Welsh  mountains,1  to 
the  Rev.  W.  K.  Fletcher,  one  of  the  chaplains  to  the 
H.E.I.C.  Fourteen  months  afterwards,  she  was  laid 
in  her  last  resting-place,  at  Poonah,  in  the  "  far  East," 
having  fallen  a  victim  to  cholera,  whilst  travelling 
with  her  husband  back  to  Bombay,  from  Sholapore, 
their  first  station,  which  they  had  been  obliged  to  quit, 
in  consequence  of  ks  extreme  unhealthiness.  It  is 
affecting  to  retrace  passages  in  her  letters,  fraught 
with  forebodings  which  are  now  invested  with  a  sad 

1  At  Penegoes,  in  Montgomeryshire,  then  the  happy  home  of 
Mrs.  Hemans's  sister. 


280  MEMOIR    OF    MRS.    HEMANS. 

solemnity — with  "  something  of  prophetic  strain."  In 
the  very  first  letter  written  after  her  marriage,  de- 
scribing the  journey  through  a  desolate  tract  of  coun- 
try between  Aberystwyth  and  Rhaiadr,  she  thus 
-expressed  herself:  —  "We  travelled  for  seventeen 
miles  through  the  most  solitary  land  I  ever  saw — high, 
green,  bare  hills,  inhabited  only  by  sheep ;  no  trees, 
no  houses,  no  human  beings — it  gave  us  on  the  land, 
a  feeling  similar  to  being  on  the  sea — and  I  believe 
our  hearts  were  mutually  full  of  that  strange,  deep 
sadness,  that  unutterable  melancholy,  which  childish 
minds  would  say  was  incompatible  with  happiness, 
but  which  thinking  natures  know  to  be  inseparable 
from  enjoyment.  It  is  not  the  skeleton  at  the  Egyp- 
tian feast,  but  the  voice  of  the  Macedonian  herald, 
bidding  the  conqueror  remember  his  mortality." 

In  another  letter,  written  shortly  before  her  depar- 
ture from  England,  she  says,  in  alluding  to  her  own 
compositions, — "  In  the  best  of  everything  I  have  done, 
you  will  find  one  leading  idea — Death :  all  thoughts, 
all  images,  all  contrasts  of  thoughts  and  images,  are 
derived  from  living  much  in  the  valley  of  that  shadow. 

"  My  poetry,  except  some  half-dozen  pieces,  may 
be  consigned  to  oblivion ;  but  in  all,  you  would  find 
the  sober  hue  which,  to  my  mind's  eye,  blends  equally 
with  the  golden  glow  of  sunset,  and  the  bright  green 
of  spring,  and  is  seen  equally  in  the  '  temple  of  delight/ 
as  in  the  tomb  of  decay  and  separation." 

Still  more  striking  are  the  words  of  one  of  the  last 
letters  ever  received  from  her,  dated  only  six  weeks 
before  the  writer  was  called  away;  in  which  she 
speaks  of  living  in  a  land  "  where  death  is  such  a 


MEMOIR    OP    MRS.  HEMAN8.  281 

swift  and  cunning  hunter,  that  before  you  know  you 
are  ill,  you  may  be  ready  to  become  his  prey — where 
death,  the  grave,  and  forgetfulness,  may  be  the  work 
of  two  days  ! " 

Mrs.  Hemans's  feelings  on  this  occasion,  will  be  best 
shown  by  the  following  fragments  : — 

"  I  was  indeed  deeply  and  permanently  affected  by 
the  untimely  fate  of  one  so  gifted,  and  so  affection- 
ately loving  me,  as  our  poor  lost  friend.  It  hung  the 
more  solemnly  upon  my -spirits,  as  the  subject  of  death 
and  the  mighty  future  had  so  many,  many  times  been 
that  of  our  most  confidential  communion.  How  much 
deeper  power  seemed  to  lie  coiled  up,  as  it  were,  in 
the  recesses  of  her  mind,  than  was  ever  manifested  to 
the  world  in  her  writings !  Strange  and  sad  does  it 
seem  that  only  the  broken  music  of  such  a  spirit 
should  have  been  given  to  the  earth — the  full  and 
finished  harmony  never  drawn  forth.  Yet  I  would 
rather  a  thousand  times  that  she  should  have  perished 
thus,  in  the  path  of  her  chosen  duties,  than  have  seen 
her  become  the  merely  brilliant  creature  of  London 
literary  life,  at  once  the  queen  and  slave  of  some 
heartless  coterie,  living  upon  those  poor  succes  de  sod- 
etc,  which  I  think  utterly  ruinous  to  all  that  is  lofty, 
and  holy,  and  delicate,  in  the  nature  of  a  highly 
endowed  woman.  I  put  on  mourning  for  her  with  a 
deep  feeling  of  sadness, — I  never  expected  to  meet  her 
again  in  this  life,  but  there  was  a  strong  chain  of  inte- 
rest between  us,  that  spell  of  mind  on  mind,  which, 
once  formed,  can  never  be  broken.  I  felt,  too,  that 
my  whole  nature  was  understood  and  appreciated  by 
her,  and  this  is  a  sort  of  happiness  which  I  consider 
24* 


282  MEMOIR    OF    MRS.  HEMANS. 

the  most  rare  in  all  earthly  affection.  Those  who  feel 
and  think  deeply,  whatever  playfulness  of  manner 
may  brighten  the  surface  of  their  character,  are  fully 
unsealed  to  very  few  indeed." 

"  Will  you  tell  Mr.  Wordsworth  this  anecdote  of 
poor  Mrs.  Fletcher  ?  I  am  sure  it  will  interest  him. 
During  the  time  that  the  famine  in  the  Deccan  was 
raging,  she  heard  that  a  poor  Hindoo  had  been  found 
lying  dead  in  one  of  the  temples  at  the  foot  of  an  idol, 
and  with  a  female  child,  still  living,  in  his  arms.  She 
and  her  husband  immediately  repaired  to  the  spot, 
took  the  poor  little  orphan  away  with  them,  and  con- 
veyed it  to  their  own  home.  She  tended  it  assiduously, 
and  one  of  her  last  cares  was  to  have  it  placed  at  a 
female  missionary  school,  to  be  brought  up  as  a  Chris- 
tian."1 


"  I  was  not  well  when  the  news  of  our  poor  friend's 
death  arrived,  and  was  much  overcome  by  it;  and 
almost  immediately  afterwards,  I  was  obliged  to  exert 
myself  in  a  way  altogether  at  variance  with  my  feel- 
ings. All  these  causes  have  thrown  me  back  a  good 
deal ;  but  I  am  now  surmounting  them,  and  was  yes- 
terday able  to  make  one  of  a  party  in  an  excursion  to 
a  little  mountain  tarn2  about  twelve  miles  from  Dub- 
lin. The  strangely  deserted  character  of  the  country, 
long  before  this  object  is  reached — indeed,  at  only 

1  In  The  Christian  Keepsake  for  1838,  there  is  an  excellent 
likeness  of  Mrs.  Fletcher,  with  a  slight  but  pleasing  Memoir, 
written  with  much  feeling  and  appreciation. 

3  Lough  Bray. 


MEMOIR    OP    MRS.  HEMANS.  ,283 

seven  or  eight  miles'  distance  from  the  metropolis — is 
quite  astonishing  to  English  eyes ;  a  wide,  mountain 
tract  of  country,  in  many  parts  without  a  sign  of 
human  life,  or  trace  of  culture  or  habitation  as  far  as 
the  sight  can  reach — magnificent  views  bursting  upon 
you  every  now  and  then,  but  all  deep  solitude,  and 
the  whole  traversed  by  a  noble  road,  a  military  work 
I  was  told,  the  only  object  of  which  seemed  to  be  a 
large  barrack  in  the  heart  of  the  hills,  now  untenanted, 
but  absolutely  necessary  for  the  safety  of  Dublin  not 
many  years  since.  Then  we  reached  a  little  lake, 
lying  clear,  and  still,  and  dark,  but  sparkling  all  over 
to  the  sun,  as  with  innumerable  fire-flies ;  high  green 
hills  sweeping  down  without  shore  or  path,  except  on 
one  side,  into  its  very  bosom,  and  all  around  the  same 
deep  silence.  I  was  only  sorry  that  one  dwelling,  and 
that,  of  all  things,  a  cottage  ornee,  stood  on  its  bank ; 
for  though  it  was  like  a  scene  of  enchantment  to  enter 
and  look  upon  the  lonely  pool  and  solemn  mountains, 
through  the  coloured  panes  of  a  richly-carved  and 
oak-panelled  apartment,  still  the  charm  of  nature 
was  in  some  degree  broken  by  the  association  of 
wealth  and  refinement." 

Mrs.  Hemans  had  projected  another  visit  to  West- 
moreland in  the  course  of  this  summer,  and  a  delight- 
ful plan  had  been  formed  of  a  meeting  there  with  her 
sister  and  brother-in-law,  and  of  happy  days  to  be 
passed  together  amidst  the  lovely  scenery  of  the  Lakes. 
But  an  attack  of  fever,  by  which  she  was  visited  in 
the  month  of  July,  and  which  reduced  her  to  an  alarm- 
ing state  of  languor  and  weakness,  compelled  her, 
sadly  and  reluctantly,  to  relinquish  all  idea  of  carry- 


284  MEMOIR    OF    MRS.  HEMANS. 

ing  this  long-cherished  scheme  into  execution.  "  I 
know  you  will  regret  my  heavy  disappointment,"  she 
wrote  to  one  of  her  friends  in  Liverpool,  "  when  I  tell 
you  that  I  have  been  obliged  sorrowfully  to  give  up 
the  hope  of  visiting  England  at  present.  Whether 
from  the  great  exertions  I  had  made  to  clear  away 
all  my  wearisome  correspondence,  and  arrange  my 
affairs,  so  as  to  give  myself  a  month's  holiday  with  a 
free  conscience,  or  from  the  intense  heat  of  the  wea- 
ther, which  has  long  greatly  oppressed  me,  I  know 
not ;  but  my  fever,  which  had  not  been  quite  subdued, 
returned  upon  me  the  very  day  I  last  wrote  to  you, 
and  in  a  very  few  hours  rose  to  such  a  height,  that 
my  strength  was  completely  prostrated.  'I  am  now 
pronounced,  and  indeed  feel  myself,  quite  unfit  for  the 
possible  risk  of  the  passage,  and  subsequent  travelling 
by  coach,  and  am  going  this  very  day,  or  rather  in 
the  cool  of  the  evening,  a  few  miles  into  the  county 
of  Wicklow,  for  immediate  change  of  air.  If  my 
health  improve  in  a  day  or  two,  I  shall  travel  on  very 
quietly  to  get  more  among  the  mountains,  the  fresh, 
wild,  native  air  of  which  is  to  me  always  an  elixir 
vitce  ;  but  I  am  going  under  much  depression  of  feel- 
ing, both  from  my  keen  sense  of  disappointment,  and 
because  I  hate  wandering  about  by  myself."  * 

This  excursion,  far  from  producing  the  good  effects 
anticipated,  led,  on  the  contrary,  to  very  disastrous 
ones;  for,  by  a  most  unfortunate  fatality,  the  little 
country  inn  to  which  Mrs.  Hemans  repaired  for  change 
of  air,  proved  to  be  infected  with  scarlet  fever,  and 

aHer  son  Charles  was  gone  with  a  friend  into  Westmoreland. 


MEMOIR    OF    MRS.    HEMANS.  285 

this  circumstance  was  concealed  by  the  people  of  the 
house,  till  both  herself  and  her  maid  had  caught  the 
contagion.  She  thus  became  again  a  prisoner  from 
illness,  under  circumstances  of  far  greater  discomfort 
than  before ;  and  so  entirely  were  her  strength  and 
spirits  subdued  by  these  repeated  attacks,  that  she 
afterwards  described  herself  as  having  passed  hour 
after  hour,  in  the  beginning  of  her  convalescence,  sit- 
ting in  the  little  garden  of  the  inn,  with  her  senses 
absorbed  in  the  tremulous  motions  of  a  weeping  wil- 
low, and  tears  rolling  down  her  cheeks  from  absolute 
weakness  and  weariness.  Like  "  Mariana  in  the 
moated  grange," 

"  She  said,  « I  am  aweary,  aweary, 
I  would  that  I  were  dead !' "  * 

As  soon  as  her  removal  could  be  undertaken  with 
safety,  she  returned  to  Dublin,  and  by  degrees  attained 
once  more  to  a  state  of  partial  recovery.  "  My  fever 
has  left  me/ '  she  wrote  to  her  sister,  "with  a  very 
great  susceptibility  to  coughs,  sore  throats,  and  all 
that  "  grisly  train,"  and  this,  I  am  afraid,  is  likely  to 
continue  my  scourge  for  a  long  time.  In  order  to  sur- 
mount it,  I  am  desired  to  pass  as  much  time  as  possible 
in  the  open  air,  which  I  accordingly  do,  but  with  a 
great  sense  of  languor  clinging  to  me.  I  went  for  two 
or  three  days  to  the  Archbishop's  country-seat,  just 
before  Charles's  return,  and  my  spirits  were  cheered 
by  the  quiet'and  the  intellectual  society  of  the  place. 
I  am  now,  though  often  with  a  deep-sighing  weariness 
(of  which,  I  fear,  your  own  anxieties  must  have  given 

*  See  the  poem  of  Mariana,  by  Mr.  Alfred  Tennyson. 


286  MEMOIR    OF    MRS.  HEMANS. 

you  experience  also),  gradually  returning  to  my  em- 
ployments."— The  same  letter  contained  copies  of  her 
two  sonnets  to  Silvio  Pellico,  to  which  she  thus  alluded, 
— "  I  wrote  them  only  a  few  days  ago  (almost  the  first 
awakening  of  my  spirit,  indeed,  after  a  long  silence 
and  darkness),  upon  reading  that  delightful  book  of 
Pellico's,1  which  I  borrowed  in  consequence  of  what 
you  had  told  me  of  it.  I  know  not  when  I  have  read 
any  thing  which  has  so  deeply  impressed  me :  the  gra- 
dual brightening  of  heart  and  soul  into  "  the  perfect 
day"  of  Christian  excellence  through  all  those  fiery 
trials,  presents,  I  think,  one  of  the  most  touching,  as 
well  as  instructing  pictures  ever  contemplated.  How 
beautiful  is  the  scene  between  him  and  Oroboni,  in 
which  they  mutually  engage  to  shrink  not  from  the 
avowal  of  their  faith,  should  they  ever  return  into  the 
world  !  But  I  could  say  so  much  on  this  subject,  which 
has  quite  taken  hold  of  my  thoughts,  that  it  would 
lead  me  to  fill  up  my  whole  letter." 

In  another  letter  she  spoke  further  of  this  book,  as 
"  a  work  with  which  I  have  been  both  impressed  and 
delighted,  and  one  which  I  strongly  recommend  you 
to  procure.  It  is  the  Prigioni  of  Silvio  Pellico,  a  dis- 
tinguished young  Italian  poet,  who  incurred  the  suspi- 
cions of  the  Austrian  government,  and  was  condemned 
to  the  penalty  of  the  carcere  duro  during  ten  years, 
of  which  this  most  interesting  work  contains  the  nar- 
rative. It  is  deeply  affecting  from  the  heart-springing 
eloquence  with  which  he  details  his  varied  sufferings. 
What  forms,  however,  the  great  charm  of  the  work, 

1  Le  mie  Prigioni. 


MEMOIR    OF    MRS.  HEMANS.  287 

is  the  gradual  and  almost  unconsciously-revealed  exalt- 
ation of  the  sufferer's  character,  spiritualized,  through 
suffering,  into  the  purest  Christian  excellence.  It  is 
beautiful  to  see  the  lessons  of  trust  in  God  and  love  to 
mankind,  brought  out  more  and  more  into  shining  light 
from  the  depth  of  the  dungeon-gloom ;  and  all  this 
crowned  at  last  by  the  release  of  the  noble,  all-for- 
giving captive,  and  his  restoration  to  his  aged  father 
and  mother,  whose  venerable  faces  seem  perpetually 
to  have  haunted  the  solitude  of  his  cell.  The  book  is 
written  in  the  most  classic  Italian,  and  will,  I  am  sure, 
be  one  to  afford  you  lasting  delight." 

The  same  letter,  speaking  of  several  books  which 
she  had  read  with  strong  and  varied  interest,  proceeds 
thus : — "  Amongst  the  chief  of  these  has  been  the  Cor- 
respondence of  Bishop  Jebb  with  Mr.  Knox,  which 
presents,  I  think,  the  most  beautiful  picture  ever  deve- 
loped of  a  noble  Christian  friendship,  brightening  on 
and  on  through  an  uninterrupted  period  of  thirty 
years.  Knox's  part  of  the  correspondence  is  ex- 
tremely rich  in  original  thought  and  the  highest  views 
of  enlightened  Christian  philosophy.  There  is  much 
elegance, '  pure  religion/  and  refined  intellectual  taste, 
in  the  Bishop's  letters  also,  but  his  mind  is  decidedly 
inferior  both  in  fervour  and  power." 

Another  affecting  allusion  to  Silvio  Pellico's  narra- 
tive occurs  in  a  subsequent  letter — "  I  have  read  it 
more  than  o,nce,  so  powerful  has  been  its  effect  upon 
my  feelings.  When  the  weary  struggle  with  wrong 
and  injustice  leads  to  such  results,  I  then  feel  that  the 
fearful  mystery  of  life  is  solved  for  me." 


288  MEMOIR    OF    MRS.    HEMANS. 

"  A  friend  kindly  brought  me  yesterday  the  Satur- 
day Magazine  containing  Coleridge's  letter  to  his 
godchild.  It  is,  indeed,  most  beautiful,  and,  coming 
from  that  sovereign  intellect,  ought  to  be  received  as 
an  invaluable  record  of  faith  and  humility.  It  is 
scarcely  possible  to  read  it  without  tears."1 

1  As  it  seems  impossible  for  such  a  composition  to  be  read  too 
often,  the  letter  is  subjoined,  for  the  benefit  of  those  who  may  not 
have  the  means  of  referring  to  it. 

Coleridge's  Letter  to  his  godchild  Adam  Steinmetz  Kinnaird, 

written  only  a  few  days  before  his  death :  — 
"  My  dear  Godchild, — I  offer  up  the  same  fervent  prayer  for 
you  now,  as  I  did  kneeling  before  the  altar  when  you  were  bap- 
tised into  Christ,  and  solemnly  received  as  a  living  member  of 
His  spiritual  body,  the  church.  Years  must  pass  before  you  will 
be  able  to  read  with  an  understanding  heart  what  I  now  write. 
But  I  trust  that  the  all-gracious  God,  the  Father  of  our  Lord 
Jesus  Christ,  the  Father  of  Mercies,  who,  by  his  only-begotten 
Son  (all  mercies  in  one  sovereign  mercy !)  has  redeemed  you  from 
evil  ground,  and  willed  you  to  be  born  out  of  darkness,  but  into 
light;  out  of  death,  but  into  life  ;  out  of  sin,  but  into  righteous- 
ness; even  into  'the  Lord,  our  righteousness,' — I  trust  that  He 
will  graciously  hear  the  prayers  of  your  dear  parents,  and  be 
with  you  as  the  spirit  of  health  and  growth,  in  body  and  in  mind. 
My  dear  godchild !  you  received  from  Christ's  minister,  at  the 
baptismal  font,  as  your  Christian  name,  the  name  of  a  most  dear 
friend  of  your  father's,  and  who  was  to  me  even  as  a  son — the 

ate  Adam  Steinmetz,  whose  fervent  aspirations,  and  paramount 
aim,  even  from  early  youth,  were  to  be  a  Christian  in  thought, 
word,  and  deed — in  will,  mind,  and  affections.  I,  too,  your  god- 
father, have  known  what  the  enjoyments  of  this  life  are,  and 
what  the  more  refined  pleasures  which  learning  and  intellectual 
power  can  give ;  I  now,  on  the  eve  of  my  departure,  declare  to 
you  (and  earnestly  pray  that  you  may  hereafter  live  and  act  on 
the  conviction),  that  health  is  a  great  blessing,  competence 


MEMOIR    OF    MRS.  HEMANS.  280 

The  following  extract  is  from  a  letter  of  acknow- 
ledgment, on  receiving  a  present  of  Retzsch's  Out- 
lines to  Schiller's  Song  of  the  Bell:  —  "This  last 
noble  production  of  Retzsch's  was  quite  new  to  me, 
and  you  may  imagine  with  how  many  bright  associ- 
ations of  friendship  and  poesy  every  leaf  of  it  is 
teeming  for  me.  Again  and  again  have  I  recurred  to 
its  beauty-embodied  thoughts,  and  ever  with  the  fresh- 
ness of  a  new  delight.  The  volume,  too,  is  so  rich  in 
materials  for  sweet  and  bitter  fancies,  that  to  an 

obtained  by  honourable  industry  a  great  blessing-,  and  a  great 
blessing  it  is,  to  have  kind,  faithful,  and  loving  friends  and  rela- 
tives ;  but  that  the  greatest  of  all  blessings,  as  it  is  the  most 
ennobling  of  all  privileges,  is  to  be  indeed  a  Christian.  But  I 
have  been,  likewise,  through  a  large  portion  of  my  later  life,  a 
sufferer,  sorely  affected  with  bodily  pains,  languor,  and  manifold 
infirmities;  and  for  the  last  three  or  four  years  have,  with  few 
and  brief  intervals,  been  confined  to  a  sick-roorn,  and  at  this 
moment,  in  great  weakness  and  heaviness,  write  from  a  sick-bed, 
hopeless  of  recovery,  yet  without  prospect  of  a  speedy  removal. 
And  I,  thus  on  the  brink  of  the  grave,  solemnly  bear  witness  to 
you,  that  the  Almighty  Redeemer,  most  gracious  in  his  promises 
to  them  that  truly  seek  Him,  is  faithful  to  perform  what  He  has 
promised ;  and  has  reserved,  under  all  pains  and  infirmities,  the 
peace  that  passeth  all  understanding,  with  the  supporting  assu- 
rances of  a  reconciled  God,  who  will  not  withdraw  His  Spirit 
from  the  conflict,  and  in  His  own  good  time  will  deliver  me 
from  the  evil  one.  Oh !  my  dear  godchild  !  eminently  blessed 
are  they  who  begin  early  to  seek,  fear,  and  love  their  God, 
trusting  wholly  in  the  righteousness  and  mediation  of  their  Lord, 
Redeemer,  Saviour,  and  everlasting  High  Priest,  Jesus  Christ. 
Oh  !  preserve  this  as  a  legacy  and  bequest  from  your  unseen 
godfather  and  friend, 

"  S.  T.  COLERIDGE." 
"  Grove,  Highgate." 

VOL.  I. 25 


290  MEMOIR    OF    MRS.  HEMANS. 

imaginative  nature  it  would  be  invaluable,  were  it  for 
this  alone.  But  how  imbued  it  is  throughout  with 
grace — the  delicate,  spiritual  grace  breathed  from  the 
domestic  affections,  in  the  full  play  of  their  tenderness ! 
I  look  upon  it  truly  as  a  religious  work ;  for  it  contains 
scarcely  a  design  in  which  the  eternal  alliance  between 
the  human  soul  and  its  Creator  is  not  shadowed  forth 
by  devotional  expression.  How  admirably  does  this 
manifest  itself  in  the  group  of  the  christening — the 
first  scene  of  the  betrothed  lovers,  with  their  uplifted 
eyes  of  speechless  happiness — and,  above  all,  in  that 
exquisite  group  representing  the  father  counting  over 
his  beloved  heads,  after  the  conflagration !  I  was  much 
impressed,  too,  by  that  most  poetic  vision  at  the  close, 
where  the  mighty  bell,  no  more  to  proclaim  the  tidings 
of  human  weal  or  wroe,  is  lying  amidst  ruins,  and  half 
mantled  over  by  a  veil  of  weeds  and  wild  flowers. 
What  a  profusion  of  external  beauty! — but,  above 
all,  what  a  deep  '  inwardness  of  meaning'  there  is  in 
all  these  speaking  things  !" 

Very  soon  after  the  date  of  the  above  letter,  that 
fatal  cold  was  caught,  which,  following  up,  as  it  did, 
so  many  trying  attacks,  completed  but  too  effectually 
the  wreck  of  a  prematurely  shattered  constitution. 
Having  been  recommended,  as  already  mentioned,  to 
be  as  much  as  possible  in  the  open  air,  Mrs.  Hemans 
passed  a  good  deal  of  time  in  the  Gardens  of  the 
Dublin  Society,  which  have  been  before  alluded  to, 
as  amongst  her  most  favourite  resorts.  One  day, 
having  repaired  there,  as  usual,  with  a  book,  she 
unfortunately  became  so  absorbed  in  reading,  as  to 
forget  how  the  hours  were  wearing  away,  till  recalled 


MEMOIR    OF    MRS.  HEMANS.  291 

to  herself  by  the  penetrating  chill  of  an  autumnal 
fog,  which  had  suddenly  closed  around  her.  She  has- 
tened home ;  but  not,  alas !  without  having  already 
imbibed  the  pestilential  influence  of  the  blighting 
atmosphere.  A  shuddering  thrill  pervaded  her  whole 
frame,  and  she  felt,  as  she  often  afterwards  declared, 
a  presentiment  that  from  that  moment  her  hours  were 
numbered.  The  same  evening  she  was  attacked  by  a 
fit  of  ague ;  and  this  insidious  and  harassing  complaint 
continued  its  visitations  for  several  weeks,  reducing 
her  poor  wasted  form  to  the  most  lamentable  state  of 
debility,  and  at  length  retiring  only  to  make  way  for 
a  train  of  symptoms  still  more  fatal  and  distressing. 
Yet,  while  the  work  of  decay  was  going  on  thus  surely 
and  progressively  upon  the  earthly  tabernacle,  the 
bright  flame  within  continued  to  burn  with  a  pure  and 
holy  light,  and,  at  times,  even  to  flash  forth  with  more 
than  wonted  brightness.  The  lyric  of  "  Despondency 
and  Aspiration,"  which  may  be  considered  as  her 
noblest  and  highest  effort,  and  in  which,  from  a  feeling 
that  it  might  be  her  last  work,  she  felt  anxious  to  con- 
centrate all  her  powers,  was  written  during  the  few 
intervals  accorded  her  from  acute  suffering  or  power- 
less languor.  And  in  the  same  circumstances  she 
wrote,  or  rather  dictated,  the  series  of  sonnets  called 
Thoughts  during  Sickness,  which  present  so  interest- 
ing a  picture  of  the  calm,  submissive  tone  of  her  mind, 
whether  engaged  in  tender  remembrances  of  the  past, 
or  in  solemn  and  reverential  speculations  on  the  future. 
The  one  entitled  "  Sickness  like  Night,"  discloses  a 
view  no  less  affecting  than  consolatory,  of  the  sweet 


292  MEMOIR    OF    MRS.    HEMANS. 

and  blessed  peace  which  hovered  round  the  couch* 
where 

"Mutely  and  helplessly  she  lay  reposing." 

"Thou  art  like  night,  O  sickness!  deeply  stilling 
Within  my  heart  the  world's  disturbing  sound, 
And  the  dim  quiet  of  my  chamber  filling 

With  low,  sweet  voices,  by  life's  tumult  drowned. 

Thou  art  like  awful  night !  —  thou  gatherest  round 
The  things  that  are  unseen,  though  close  they  lie, 

And  with  a  truth,  clear,  startling,  and  profound, 
Giv'st  their  dread  presence  to  our  mortal  eye. 

Thou  art  like  starry,  spiritual  night! 

High  and  immortal  thoughts  attend  thy  way, 
And  revelations,  which  the  common  light 

Brings  not,  though  wakening  with  its  rosy  ray 
All  outward  life.     Be  welcome,  then,  thy  rod, 
Before  whose  touch  my  soul  unfolds  itself  to  God." 

The  last  sonnet  of  the  series,  entitled  "  Recovery," 
was  written  under  temporary  appearances  of  con- 
valescence, which  proved  as  fugitive  as  they  were  fal- 
lacious. 

Early  in  the  month  of  December,  Mrs.  Hemans  hav- 
ing been  recommended  to  try  change  of  air,  and  the 
quiet  of  the  country,  her  brother  and  sister-in-law, 
who  had  come  up  from  Kilkenny  to  see  her,  and  have 
a  consultation  of  physicians,  were  about  to  remove 
her  into  the  County  of  Wicklow  ;  when  the  thoughtful 
kindness  of  the  Archbishop  and  Mrs.  Whateley  placed 
at  her  disposal  their  own  country-seat  of  Redesdale, 
a  delightful  retirement  about  seven  miles  from  Dub- 
lin, where  every  comfort  was  provided  for  her  that 
the  most  delicate  consideration  could  suggest,  and 


MEMOIR    OF    MRS.    HEMANS.  293 

where,  for  a  short  season,  she  appeared  to  derive  some 
slight  benefit  from  the  change.  She  occasionally 
exerted  herself  to  write  short  letters  in  pencil,  to  allay 
the  anxieties  of  her  friends ;  from  one  of  which  affect- 
ing epistles  the  following  passage  is  extracted: — 

"  Redesdale,  Sunday  Evening,  Dec.  13,  1834. 

"  My  fever,  though  still  returning  at  its  hours,  is 
decidedly  abated,  with  several  of  its  most  exhausting 
accompaniments;  and  those  intense,  throbbing  head- 
aches have  left  me,  and  allowed  me  gradually  to 
resume  the  inestimable  resource  of  reading,  though 
frequent  drowsiness  obliges  me  to  use  this  very  mode- 
rately. But  better  far  than  these  indications  of  reco- 
very, is  the  sweet  religious  peace  which  I  feel  gradu- 
ally overshadowing  me  with  its  dove-pinions,  excluding 
all  that  would  exclude  thoughts  of  God.  I  would  I 
could  convey  to  you  the  deep  feelings  of  repose  and 
thankfulness  with  which  I  lay  on  Friday  evening,  gaz- 
ing from  my  sofa  upon  a  sunset  sky  of  the  richest  suf- 
fusions— silvery  green  and  amber  kindling  into  the 
most  glorious  tints  of  the  burning  rose.  I  felt  its  holy 
beauty  sinking  through  my  inmost  being,  with  an  influ- 
ence drawing  me  nearer  and  nearer  to  God.  The 
stillness  here  is  exquisite ;  broken  only  by  the  occa- 
sional notes  of  the  robin,  one  of  which  faithful  birds 
yesterday  paid  us  a  visit." 

Her  love  of  flowers  not  only  continued  undiminished, 
but  seemed  daily  to  strengthen  into  a  deeper  senti- 
ment, realizing  the  feelings  which  had  been  already 
depicted  in  her  poem,  entitled  "  Flowers  and  Music  in 
a  room  of  Sickness." 
25* 


294  MEMOIR    OF    MRS.  HEMANS. 

"God  hath  purified  my  spirit's  eye, 

And  in  the  folds  of  this  consummate  rose 
I  read  bright  prophecies.     I  see  not  there, 
Dimly  and  mournfully,  the  word  'farewell' 
On  the  rich  petals  traced:  No  —  in  soft  veins 
And  characters  of  beauty,  I  can  read  — 
*  Look  npt  look  heavenward  /' " 

**  I  really  think  that  pure  passion  for  flowers,"  she 
wrote,  in  one  of  her  notes  at  this  time  to  Mrs.  Law- 
rence, "  is  the  only  one  which  long  sickness  leaves 
untouched  with  its  chilling  influence.  Often  during 
this  weary  illness  of  mine,  have  I  looked  upon  new 
books  with  perfect  apathy,  when,  if  a  friend  has  sent 
me  a  few  flowers,  my  heart  has  '  leaped  up'  to  their 
dreamy  hues  and  odours,  with  a  sudden  sense  of  reno- 
vated childhood,  which  seems  to  me  one  of  the  myste- 
ries of  our  being." 

Her  son  Charles  was  the  inseparable  companion  of 
these  solemn,  yet  blessed  hours ;  and  he  will  ever  look 
back  with  a  thankful  heart  on  the  privilege  granted 
to  him  of  being  thus  constantly  permitted  to  profit  by 
her  example,  to  soothe  her  loneliness  by  his  pious  devo- 
tion, to  read  to  her,  to  write  for  her,  to  be  in  all  things 
her  gently  ministering  spirit.  During  the  Christmas 
holidays,  these  grateful  offices  were  affectionately 
shared  by  his  brother  Henry,  then  a  schoolboy  at 
Shrewsbury.  How  often  must  the  earnest  eyes  of  the 
languid  sufferer  have  rested  on  these,  her  bright  and 
blooming  ones,  with  all  a  mother's  tenderness  and 
pride — how  must  her  heart  have  overflowed  with 
unutterable  yearnings  at  the  thoughts  of  leaving  them ! 
— how  fervently  must  she  have  committed  them  in 


MEMOIR    OF    MRS.  HEMANS.  295 

silent,  inward  supplication,  to  the   love  and  care  of 
their  Heavenly  Father ! 

It  would  be  doing  injustice  to  the  memory  of  a 
humble,  but  not  the  less  valuable  friend,  to  omit  men- 
tioning the  great  comfort  Mrs.  Hemans  derived  from 
the  indefatigable  services  of  her  faithful  attendant* 
Anna  Creer ;  a  young  person  whose  excellent  prin 
ciples,  undeviating  propriety,  and  real  superiority 
of  mind  and  manner,  would  have  done  honour  to  any 
station,  while  they  made  her  a  perfect  treasure  in  the 
one  of  which  she  fulfilled  the  duties  so  admirably. 
She  was  born  of  respectable  parents  in  the  Isle  of 
Man,  and  had  been  carefully  educated  in  a  manner 
befitting  her  line  of  life.  Mrs.  Hemans  had  taken 
great  pains  to  improve  her ;  and  from  the  force  of 
grateful  attachment,  and  a  certain  inherent  refine- 
ment which  seemed  a  part  of  her  nature,  she  almost 
insensibly  acquired  a  sort  of  assimilation  in  her  ideas 
and  expressions  to  those  of  her  kind  mistress.  The 
assiduity  of  her  attendance,  cheerful  and  unwearied 
by  night  and  by  day,  cannot  be  remembered  without 
thankful  appreciation ;  and  this  is  now  blended  with 
a  touching  interest,  excited  by  many  circumstances 
of  her  subsequent  illness  and  death.1 

1  Two  years  after  the  death  of  her  mistress,  she  married  a 
most  respectable  tradesman  in  Dublin,  who  had  been  long  attach- 
ed to  her  —  tjie  proprietor  of  the  house  in  which  Mrs.  Hemans 
had  latterly  resided.  In  this  house  she  herself  died,  in  May, 
1838  (having  fallen  into  a  decline,  in  consequence  of  a  prema- 
ture confinement),  and  was  buried  in  the  same  vault  which  holds 
the  remains  of  her  dear  mistress.  The  subjoined  extract  is 
given,  as  affording  some  idea  of  her  warm  heart  and  singularly 


296  MEMOIR    OF    MRS.  REMANS. 

During  her  stay  at  Redesdale,  Mrs.  Hemans  was 
continually  visited  by  the  benevolent  Mrs.  Whateley, 

delicate  mind.  It  is  part  of  a  letter  written  by  her,  a  few  months 
after  Mrs.  Hemans's  death: — "It  is  a  continual  cause  of  thank- 
fulness to  me  that  I  was  so  wonderfully  supported,  even  to  the 
last  sad  hour ;  —  sad  it  must  ever  be  to  me ;  it  is  a  thing  not  to 
wear  off  Oh  no !  with  me  it  seems  to  deepen  daily  —  remem- 
brances grow  dearer.  My  thought  of  her  is  like  some  hidden, 
treasured  thing,  which  no  power  could  win  from  me.  I  feel  it 
would  be  downright  selfishness  to  wish  her  back :  it  may  well  be 
said  this  was  not  her  rest.  She  ever  seemed  to  me  as  a  wander- 
er from  her  Heavenly  Father's  mansion,  who  knew  too  much  of 
that  home  to  seek  a  resting-place  here  !  She  often  said  to  me, 
*  I  feel  like  a  tired  child  —  wearied,  and  longing  to  mingle  with 
the  pure  in  heart.'  At  other  times  she  would  say,  —  *  I  feel  as 
if  I  were  sitting  with  Mary  at  the  feet  of  my  Redeemer,  hearing 
the  music  of  His  voice,  and  learning  of  Him  to  be  meek  and 
lowly.'  And  then  she  would  say,  'Oh,  Anna,  do  not  you  love 
your  kind  Saviour  1  The  plan  of  Redemption  was  indeed  a 
glorious  one ;  humility  was  indeed  the  crowning  work.  I  am 
like  a  quiet  babe  at  His  feet,  and  yet  my  spirit  is  full  of  His 
strength.  When  any  body  speaks  of  His  love  to  me,  I  feel  as 
if  they  were  too  slow ;  my  spirit  can  mount  alone  with  Him  into 
those  blissful  realms,  with  far  more  rapidity.' 

"  My  heart  gets  too  full  for  utterance  when  I  think  of  her 
affectionate  manner  to  me.  She  often  told  me  that  she  believed 
I  had  been  sent  to  her  in  answer  to  her  earnest  prayer,  and  said 
that,  whatever  might  be  her  fate,  I  might  always  feel  that  my 
being  with  her  had  not  been  in  vain.  These  were  her  words ; 
and  the  Searcher  of  hearts  only  knows  how  thankful,  yet  hum- 
bled, I  feel  for  such  an  inestimable  blessing.  It  is  one  for  which 
I  feel  I  shall  have  to  render  an  account.  May  it  prove  a  blessed 
one  !  I  wish  I  could  tell  you  more  of  what  she  said,  but  my 
language  is  so  poor,  so  weak,  that  when  I  would  try,  it  is  as  if  I 
were  robbing  her  words  of  their  brightness;  but  then  I  know 
that  none  can  speak  as  she  did.  These  are  not  words  of  course ; 
no,  I  can  truly  say  my  ties  to  earth  are  weakened,  because  she 
is  no  longer  here." 


MEMOIR    OF    MRS.  HEMANS.  297 

whose  gentle  sympathy  was  a  balm  to  her  heart 
The  true  brotherly  kindness  of  her  excellent  friend. 
Colonel  D'Aquilar  —  his  indefatigable  and  thoughtful 
attentions,  prompted  as  well  by  his  own  generous 
regard  as  by  the  affectionate  anxiety  of  his  sister, 
Mrs.  Lawrence,  were  a  source  of  comfort,  the  con- 
sciousness of  which  must  be  its  own  reward,  as  words 
are  inadequate  to  do  justice  to  it.  And  the  same 
must  be  said  of  the  disinterested  zeal  and  solicitude 
of  Mrs.  Hemans's  medical  friends,  Dr.  Graves  and  Dr. 
Croker. 

Not  long  after  her  removal  into  the  country,  her 
sympathies  were  sorrowfully  excited  by  an  event 
which  plunged  into  the  deepest  distress  the  family 
with  which  she  was  most  intimate,  and  deprived  her- 
self, individually,  of  a  valuable  and  paternal  friend ; 
—  the  death,  after  a  very  short  illness,  of  the  late  J. 
C.  Graves,  Esq.  Most  touchingly  did  she  lament  her 
own  inability  to  minister  at  such  a  moment  to  the 
griefs  of  those  for  whom  she  felt  so  sincerely.  "  Again 
and  again  have  I  thought  of  you,"  were  the  words  of 
her  letter  on  this  occasion,  to  one  of  his  afflicted 
daughters,  "  and  wished  that  my  health  allowed  me 
to  be  near  you,  that  I  might  make  some  little  efforts 
to  comfort  and  sustain.  Few  can  more  deeply  enter 
into  all  you  have  suffered  than  myself,  in  whose  mind 
the  death-bed  scene  of  my  beloved  and  excellent 
mother  is  still  as  mournfully  distinct  as  the  week  when 
that  bereavement  occurred,  which  threw  me  to  strug- 
gle upon  a  harsh  and  bitter  world.  But,  dearest  C., 
there  comes  a  time  when  we  feel  that  God  has  drawn 
us  nearer  to  Himself  by  the  chastening  influence  of 


298  MEMO/R    OF    MRS.  HEMANS. 

such  trials,  and  when  we  thankfully  acknowledge  that 
a  higher  state  of  spiritual  purification  —  the  great 
object,  I  truly  believe,  of  all  our  earthly  discipline  — 
has  been  the  blessed  result  of  our  calamities.  I  am 
sure  that  in  your  pure  and  pious  mind  this  result  will 
ere  long  take  place,  and  that  a  deep  and  reconciling 
calm  will  follow  the  awakening  sense  of  God's  paren- 
tal dealings  with  the  spirit." 

The  following  words  are  from  a  note  dated  Janu- 
ary 27th : — "  I  cannot  possibly  describe  to  you  the  sub- 
duing effect  that  long  illness  has  produced  upon  my 
mind.  I  seem  to  have  been  passing  *  through  the  val- 
ley of  the  shadow  of  death,'  and  all  the  vivid  inter- 
ests of  life  look  dim  and  pale  around  me.  I  am  still 
at  the  Archbishop's  palace,1  where  I  receive  kindness 
truly  heart-warm.  Never  could  anything  be  more 
cordial  than  the  strong  interest  he  and  his  amiable 
wife  have  taken  in  my  recovery.  My  dear  Henry 
has  enjoyed  his  holidays  here  greatly,  as  I  should  have 
done  too  (he  has  been  so  mild  and  affectionate),  but 
for  constant  pain  and  sickness." 

The  future  destination  of  this  "  dear  Henry,"  now 
of  an  age  to  enter  upon  the  active  duties  of  life,  and 
work  out  his  own  path  to  independence,  had  been  for 
some  time  a  subject  which  pressed  heavily  upon  the 
mind  of  his  anxious  mother.  It  may,  therefore,  well 
be  imagined  with  what  unspeakable  joy  and  gratitude 

1  Redesdale  is  not,  properly  speaking,  the  Archbishop's  palace, 
but  his  country-seat ;  but  there  were  old  and  dear  associations 
attached  to  the  former  name,  which  made  it  very  natural  that 
Mrs.  Hemans  should  use  it  in  connexion  with  "  kindness  heart- 
warm" 


MEMOIR    OF    MRS.  HEMANS.  299 

she  hailed  the  arrival  of  a  boon  so  utterly  unexpected 
as  a  letter  from  Sir  Robert  Peel,  (expressed  in  terms 
no  less  honourable  to  the  writer,  than  gratifying  to  the 
receiver),  appointing  her  son  to  a  clerkship  in  the 
Admiralty,  and  accompanied  by  a  most  munificent 
donation,  which,  emanating  from  such  a  quarter,  could 
create  no  feelings  but  those  of  heartfelt  thankfulness, 
unmingled  with  any  alloy  of  false  delicacy  or  mistaken 
pride. 

Mrs.  Hemans  was  at  first  entirely  at  a  loss  to  trace 
the  channel  through  whose  means  this  stream  of  bounty 
had  found  its  way  to  her  retirement ;  but  it  was  with 
less  of  surprise  than  of  grateful  pleasure,  that  she  at 
length  discovered  it  to  have  been  through  the  affec- 
tionate exertions  of  her  friend  Mrs.  Lawrence,  that 
an  interest  so  powerful  had  been  awakened  in  her 
favour.  The  joyful  excitement  of  a  happiness  so 
unlocked  for — the  relief  of  having  such  a  weight  of 
anxiety  thus  lifted  from  her  heart — roused  her  for  a 
time  from  the  almost  lethargic  languor  into  which  her 
feeble  frame  was  gradually  sinking,  and  her  energies 
broke  forth  once  more,  "  as  the  tender  grass  springeth 
out  of  the  earth  by  clear  shining  after  rain."  She 
exerted  herself  to  write  many  letters  to  impart  the 
glad  tidings  to  her  friends,  speaking  invariably  of  this 
noble  act  of  kindness  as  having  filled  her  mind  with 
joy  and  thankfulness;  as  being  "a  sunshine  without  a 
cloud."  Again  must  her  own  words  be  quoted  from 
one  of  the  last  of  her  letters  to  Mrs.  Lawrence : — 

"  Well,  my  dear  friend,  I  hope  my  life,  if  it  be  spared, 
may  now  flow  back  into  its  native  course  of  quiet 
thoughtfulness.  You  know  in  how  rugged  a  channel 


300  MEMOIR    OF    MRS.  HEMANS. 

the  poor  little  stream  has  been  forced,  and  through 
what  rocks  it  has  wrought  its  way ;  and  it  is  now  long- 
ing for  repose  in  some  still  valley.  It  has  ever  been 
one  of  my  regrets  that  the  constant  necessity  of  pro- 
viding sums  of  money  to  meet  the  exigencies  of  the 
boys'  education,  has  obliged  me  to  waste  my  mind  in 
what  I  consider  mere  desultory  effusions : 

*  Pouring  myself  away, 

As  a  wild  bird,  amidst  the  foliage,  turns 

That  which  within  him  thrills,  and  beats  and  burns, 

Into  a  fleeting  lay.' 

"  My  wish  ever  was  to  concentrate  all  my  mental 
energy  in  the  production  of  some  more  noble  and  com- 
plete work ;  something  of  pure  and  holy  excellence 
(if  there  be  not  too  much  presumption  in  the  thought), 
which  might  permanently  take  its  place  as  the  work 
of  a  British  poetess.  I  have  always,  hitherto,  written 
as  if  in  the  breathing  times  of  storms  and  billows. 
Perhaps  it  may  not  even  yet  be  too  late  to  accomplish 
what  I  wish,  though  I  sometimes  feel  my  health  so 
deeply  prostated,  that  I  cannot  imagine  how  I  am  ever 
to  be  raised  up  again.  But  a  greater  freedom  from 
those  cares,  of  which  I  have  been  obliged  to  bear  up 
under  the  whole  responsibility,  may  do  much  to  restore 
me ;  and  though  my  spirits  are  greatly  subdued  by  long 
sickness,  I  feel  the  powers  of  my  mind  in  full  matu- 
rity. ....  The  very  idea  of  possessing  such 
friends  as  yourself  and  your  dear,  noble  brother,  is  a 

fountain  of  strength  and  hope I  am  very, 

very  weary  of  writing  so  long ;  yet  still  feel  as  if  I  had 
a  thousand  things  to  say  to  you. 

"  With  regard  to  my  health,  I  can  only  tell  you  that 


MEMOIR    OF    MRS.  HEMANS.  301 

what  I  now  feel  is  a  state  of  sinking  languor,  from 
which  it  seems  impossible  I  should  ever  be  raised.  I 
am  greatly  exhausted  with  this  long  letter,  so  fare- 
well." 

A  reaction  of  still  more  distressing  debility,  and  an 
increase  of  other  alarming  symptoms,  followed  but  too 
rapidly  this  temporary  revival.  "  I  cannot  tell  you 
how  much  I  suffer,"  was  the  reluctant  confession  of  a 
pencilled  note  to  her  sister,  "  nor  what  a  state  of  utter 
childlike  weakness  my  poor  wasted  limbs  are  reduced 
to.  But  my  mind  is,  as  I  desired  Charlie  to  tell  you, 
in  a  state  of  the  deepest  resignation ;  to  which  is  now 
added  a  warm  thankfulness  to  God  for  this  His  latest 
mercy." 

The  increased  danger  of  her  situation  making  it 
advisable  that  she  should  return  into  Daw  son  Street 
to  be  nearer  her  physicians,  she  quitted  Redesdale  in 
the  beginning  of  March,  with  a  heart  full  of  gratitude 
for  the  kindly  shelter  it  had  afforded  her.  She  had 
now  almost  entirely  lost  the  use  of  her  limbs,  and  had 
to  be  lifted  in  and  out  of  the  carriage  by  her  brother, 
who  had  come  up  from  Kilkenny  on  purpose  to  super- 
intend the  arrangements  for  her  removal,  and  who 
from  this  time  to  the  hour  of  her  death,  never  left 
her,  but  when  summoned  into  the  country  by  his  offi- 
cial duties ;  whilst  his  affectionate  wife,  who  arrived 
in  Dublin  the  following  week,  continued  unremitting 
in  her  devoted  attendance  to  the  last.  The  melan- 
choly group  was  soon  afterwards  joined  by  her  sister, 
who  remained  with  her  until  called  away  by  still  more 
imperative  claims ;  and  for  a  few  days  by  her  son  Wil- 
loughby,  then  employed  (as  has  already  been  men- 

VOL.  L 26 


302  MEMOIR    OF    MRS.  HEMANS. 

tioned)  upon  the  Ordnance  Survey  in  the  north  of  Iro 
land. 

From  this  time,  the  daily  declining  invalid  could 
only  leave  her  bed  to  he  laid  upon  a  couch  in  the 
same  room ;  and  her  sufferings,  caused  by  the  organic 
disease  which  had  succeeded  the  ague,  were  occasion- 
ally most  severe.  But  all  was  borne  uncomplainingly. 
Never  was  her  mind  overshadowed  with.gloorn ;  never 
would  she  allow  those  around  her  to  speak  of  her  con- 
dition as  one  deserving  commiseration.  The  dark  and 
silent  chamber  seemed  illumined  by  light  from  above, 
and  cheered  with  songs  of  angels ;  and  she  would  say, 
that,  in  her  intervals  from  pain,  "  no  poetry  could 
express,  nor  imagination  conceive,  the  visions  of  bless- 
edness that  flitted  across  her  fancy,  and  made  her 
waking  hours  more  delightful  than  those  even  that 
were  given  to  temporary  repose."  Her  sleep  was 
calm  and  happy ;  and  none  but  pleasing  dreams  ever 
visited  her  couch.  This  she  acknowledged  as  a  great 
and  unexpected  blessing;  for,  in  all  her  former  ill- 
nesses, she  had  been  used  to  suffer  either  from  pain- 
fully intense  wakefulness,  or  disturbed  and  fitful  slum- 
bers, which  exhausted,  rather  than  refreshed,  the  worn 
and  feverish  frame.  Changeful  as  were  the  moods  of 
her  mind,  they  were  invariably  alike  in  this — that 
serenity  and  submission  as  to  her  awn  state,  and  the 
kindest  consideration  for  others,  shed  their  sweet  influ- 
ence over  all.  At  times,  her  spirit  would  appear  to 
be  already  half-etherealized ;  her  mind  would  seem  to 
be  fraught  with  deep,  and  holy,  and  incommunicable 
thoughts,  and  she  would  entreat  to  be  left  perfectly 
alone,  in  stillness  and  darkness,  "  to  commune  with  her 


MEMOIR    OF    MRS.  HEMANS.  303 

own  heart,"  and  reflect  on  the  mercies  of  her  Saviour 
She  continually  spoke  of  the  unutterable  comfort  she 
derived  from  dwelling  on  the  contemplation  of  the 
Atonement.  To  one  friend,  for  whom  she  dreaded 
the  influence  of  adverse  opinions,  she  sent  a  solemn 
exhortation,  earnestly  declaring  that  this  alone  was 
her  "  rod  and  staff,"  when  all  earthly  supports  were 
failing.  To  another,  she  desired  the  assurance  might 
be  given,  that  "  the  tenderness  and  affectionateness 
of  the  Redeemer's  character,  which  they  had  often 
contemplated  together,  was  now  a  source,  not  merely 
of  reliance,  but  of  positive  happiness  to  her  —  the 
sweetness  of  Tier  couch."  At  less  solemn  moments  she 
would  converse  with  much  of  her  own  kindly  cheer- 
fulness, sending  affectionate  messages  to  her  various 
friends,  and  recalling  old  remembrances  with  vivid 
and  endearing  minuteness.  Her  thoughts  reverted 
frequently  to  the  days  of  childhood — to  the  old  house 
by  the  sea-shore — the  mountain  rambles — the  haunts 
and  the  books  which  had  formed  the  delight  of  her 
girlish  years.  One  evening,  whilst  her  sister  was  sit- 
ting by  her  bed-side,  a  yellow  gleam  from  the  setting 
sun,  which  streamed  through  the  half-closed  shutters, 
produced  a  peculiar  effect  upon  the  wall,  exactly  simi- 
lar to  what  used  to  be  observed  at  sunset  in  their  old 
school-room  at  Gwrych.  They  both  remarked  the 
circumstance,  and  what  a  gush  of  recollections  was 
thus  called  forth !  The  association  was  like  that  so 
often  produced  by  a  peculiar  scent,  or  a  remembered 
strain  of  music.1  Yet  in  all,  save  that  streak  of  light, 


1 "  It  may  be  a  sound  — 

A  tone  of  music  —  summer's  eve  —  or  spring  — 


304  MEMOIR    OP    MRS.  HEMANS. 

how  different  were  the  two  scenes ! — The  one,  a  cham- 
ber of  sickness  in  a  busy  city — its  windows  (for  a  back- 
room had  been  chosen,  for  the  sake  of  quietness,)  look- 
ing down  into  a  dull  court ;  the  other,  a  cheerful 
apartment  in  an  old  country-house,  every  thing  about 
it  bespeaking  the  presence  of  happy  childhood,  and 
the  wide,  pleasant  window  opening  out  upon  fresh 
green  fields ;  beyond  them  the  silver  sea ;  and  far  in 
the  west,  the  sun  sinking  behind  the  dark,  bold  pro- 
montory of  the  Orme's  Head.  And  in  the  inmates 
of  those  two  rooms,  the  contrast  was  no  less  striking. 
Of  the  two  joyous  children,  one,  "  the  favourite  and 
the  flower,"  now  a  worn  and  faded  form,  lay  on  her 
dying  bed;  the  other,  on  the  eve  of  partings  worse 
than  death,  destined  to  feel  the  sad  force  of  the  affect 
ing  old  epitaph:  — 

"  Why  doe  I  live,  in  life  a  thralle, 

Of  joye  and  alle  berefte  1 

Their  wings  were  growne,  to  heaven  they're  flowne — 
'Cause  I  had  none,  I'm  lefte."1 

The  powers  of  memory  for  which  Mrs.  Hemans 
had  always  been  so  remarkable,  shone  forth  with  in- 
creased brightness  whilst  her  outward  frame  was  so 
visibly  decaying.  She  would  lie  for  hours  without 
speaking  or  moving,  repeating  to  herself  whole  chap- 
ters of  the  Bible,  and  page  after  page  of  Milton  and 
Wordsworth.  The  volume  of  Yarrow  Revisited, 

A  flower — the  wind  —  the  ocean  —  which  shall  wound, 
Striking  the  electric  chain  wherewith  we  are  darkly  bound." 

Childe  Harold,  Canto  iv.  Stanza  xxiii. 
1  In  Crediton  Church,  near  Exeter. 


MEMOIR    OF    MRS.    HEMAN9.  305 

which  was  published  at  this  time,  and  sent  to  her  by 
her  revered  friend,  with  an  autograph  inscription, 
afforded  her  great  delight.1  Amongst  the  many  mes- 
sages of  cordial  remembrance  which  she  sent  to  her 
personal  friends,  as  well  as  to  some  of  those  with 
whose  minds  alone  she  had  held  communion,  was  one 
to  Miss  Mitford,  desiring  she  might  be  told  how  often 
some  of  her  sweet  woodland  scenes  rose  up  before 
her,  as  in  a  camera  obscura,  filling  the  dark  room 
with  pleasant  rural  sights ;  with  the  scent  of  the  new- 
mown  hay  or  the  fresh  fern,  and  the  soothing  sound 
of  waters.  Her  "  Remembrances  of  Nature,"  de- 
scribed with  so  deep  a  feeling  in  one  of  her  sonnets, 
continued  equally  intense  and  affectionate  to  the  last. 
A  passage  from  a  work  which  had  long  been  high  in 
her  favour,  was  now  brought  home  to  her  thoughts 
with  a  truth  equal  to  its  eloquence.  "  O  unseen 
Spirit  of  Creation  !  that  watchest  over  all  things — the 
desert  and  the  rock,  no  less  than  the  fresh  water, 
bounding  on  like  a  hunter  on  his  path,  when  his  heart 
is  in  his  step — or  the  valley  girded  by  the  glad  woods, 
and  living  with  the  yellow  corn — to  me,  thus  sad  and 

1  It  would  have  been  very  dear  to  her,  could  she  have  fore- 
seen the  delicate  and  appropriate  commemoration  awarded  to 
her  by  Mr.  Wordsworth,  in  the  elegiac  stanzas  which  record  the 
high  names  of  some  of  his  most  distinguished  contemporaries, 
summoned,  in  quick  succession,  "  to  the  land  whence  none  re- 
turn :"- —  ' 

"Mourn  rather  for  that  holy  spirit, 

Sweet  as  the  spring,  as  ocean  deep, 
For  her,  who,  ere  her  summer  faded. 

Has  sunk  into  a  breathless  sleep." 
See  WORDSWORTH'S  Poems  (new  edition),  Vol.  V.  p.  336. 

26* 


306  MEMOIR    OF    MRS.  HEMANS. 

baffled,  thou  hast  ministered  as  to  the  happiest  of  thy 
children  ! — thou  hast  whispered  tidings  of  unutterable 
comfort  to  a  heart  which  the  world  sated  while  it  de- 
ceived. Thou  gavest  me  a  music,  sweeter  than  that 
of  palaces,  in  the  mountain  wind  —  thou  badest  the 
flowers  and  the  common  grass  smile  up  to  me  as  chil- 
dren to  the  face  of  their  father." l 

One  of  the  few  visiters  admitted  to  her  room,  after 
she  became  entirely  confined  to  it,  was  that  most 
gifted  and  gracious  child  (for  such  he  then  was,  both 
in  years  and  appearance),  Giulio  Regondi,  in  whose 
wonderful  musical  genius  she  had  previously  taken 
great  delight,  whilst  his  guileless  and  sensitive  nature 
inspired  her  with  a  warm  feeling  of  interest.  The 
lines  she  had  addressed  to  him  in  the  preceding  year, 
flowed  from  that  well-spring  of  maternal  kindliness 
which  was  ever  gushing  within  her  bosom,  and  which 
made  every  child — still  more  every  loving  and  mother- 
less child — an  object  towards  which  her  heart  yearn- 
ed with  tender  sympathy.  The  little  fellow  showed 
the  greatest  anxiety  during  her  illness,  and  was  con- 
stant in  his  spontaneous  enquiries.  Sometimes  he 
would  call  to  ask  for  her  on  his  way  to  play  at  the 
Castle  concerts,  or  at  some  other  evening  party ;  and 
as  he  .stood  in  the  doorway,  with  his  innocent  face,  his 
delicate  form,  his  long  fair  hair  streaming  down  his 
shoulders,  and  his  whole  air  and  bearing  so  different 
from  the  everyday  beings  around  him,  one  might 
almost  have  taken  him  for  a  messenger  from  "  the 
better  land." 

1  "The  New  Phsedo,"  in  The  Student,  Vol.  II.  p.  355. 


MEMOIR    OF    MRS.  HEMANS.  307 

It  is  impossible  to  describe  the  considerate  and  un 
ceasing  attentions  which  were  continually  bringing 
assurance  to  the  patient  sufferer,  not  merely  of  the 
watchful  kindness  of  friends,  but  of  the  generous 
interest  of  strangers.1  All  this  she  would  acknow- 
ledge with  the  most  grateful  emotion,  and  even  when 
unable  to  partake  of  the  luxuries  which  poured  in  so 
lavishly  from  every  imaginable  quarter,  they  were 
still  welcomed  and  appreciated  as  tokens  of  thought- 
ful recollection.  But  "  flowers,  fresh  flowers  !" — these 
were  ever  hailed  as  things  of  "  deep  meaning"  and 
happy  omen ;  and  never  was  her  couch  unblessed  by 
their  gentle  presence.  For  this  gratification  she  was 
more  than  once  indebted  to  the  kindness  of  a  fellow 
sufferer,  at  that  time  under  the  care  of  her  own 
friendly  physician,  Dr.  Croker ;  this  was  the  Rev. 
Hugh  White  (the  author  of  Meditations  and  Ad- 
dresses on  Prayer,  and  of  several  other  religious 
works),  who  was  then  considered  to  be  in  a  state 
little  less  precarious  than  her  own,  though  it  pleased 
God,  after  long  chastening,  to  "  heal  his  sickness," 
and  enable  him  to  resume  the  duties  of  a  "  good  and 

1  This  was  particularly  shown  in  the  instance  of  one  lady  who 
was  most  assiduous  in  her  personal  enquiries,  and  was  continu- 
ally bringing  some  new  delicacy  to  tempt  the  capricious  appetite 
of  the  invalid.  There  was  a  sort  of  interesting  mystery  attach- 
ed to  these  fairy  favours,  as  it  never  could  be  discovered  from 
whom  they  proceeded.  The  lady  used  to  alight  from  an  elegant 
equipage  at  the  corner  of  the  street,  come  up  unattended  to  the 
door,  and  ask  to  see  Anna  Creer,  whose  entreaties  to  be  told  her 
name  were  proffered  in  vain,  "  That"  she  used  to  say,  "  was  of 
no  consequence ;  she  only  hoped  that  her  attentions  might  be  re- 
ceived as  kindly  as  they  were  meant." 


308  MEMOIR    OF    MRS.  HEMANS. 

faithful  servant."  The  impressions  under  which 
these  tokens  were  sent  and  received,  as  from  one 
dying  Christian  to  another,  invested  them  with  a 
peculiar  interest.  Mrs.  Hemans  had  desired  that  a 
copy  of  her  sonnet  to  "  Flowers  in  a  Sick  Room" 
should  be  sent  to  Mr.  White,  and  was  sensibly  touch- 
ed by  the  note  in  which  he  wrote  to  thank  her  for  it, 
as  "  so  sweetly  expressing  the  pleasurable  and  pious 
feelings  their  '  pure  and  lovely  forms'  are  calculated 
to  awaken  in  the  bosom  of  one  who  delights  to  be 
reminded,  by  every  object  in  creation,  of  that  most 
precious  and  consolatory  truth,  that  '  God  is  love.' ' 
Another  passage  from  the  same  note,  was  equally  in 
unison  with  her  own  feelings.  "  I  have  been  sorry,  in 
one  sense,  to  hear  that  you  have  latterly  been  so 
great  a  sufferer,  and  I  can  indeed  sympathize  with 
you  in  many  of  the  trying  feelings  attendant  on  a 
broken  and  declining  state  of  health.  But  as  I  believe 
I  am  writing  to  one  who  has  tasted  that  the  Lord  is 
gracious,  and  has  been  given  to  know  something  of 
that  love  which  passeth  knowledge,  I  almost  feel  as  if 
it  were  wrong  to  say  I  am  sorry,  that  a  gracious,  and 
compassionate,  and  faithful  Saviour  is  fulfilling  to  you 
His  own  precious  promise  — '  As  many  as  I  love,  I 
rebuke  and  chasten.' ' 

The  conviction  of  the  inestimable  value  of  such 
discipline,  was,  indeed,  ever  present  to  her  mind, 
mingled  with  the  deepest  humility,  the  most  entire 
resignation  —  an  equal  readiness  to  live  or  die  —  a 
saying  with  the  whole  heart  —  "Behold  the  hand- 
maid of  the  Lord  —  Be  it  unto  me  according  to  Thy 
word." 


MEMOIR    OF    MRS.  HEMANS.  309 

**  I  feel,"  she  would  say,  "  as  if  hovering  between 
heaven  and  earth;"  and  she  seemed,  in  truth,  so 
raised  towards  the  sky,  that  all  worldly  things  were 
obscured  and  diminished  to  her  view,  whilst  the  in- 
effable glories  of  eternity  dawned  upon  it  more  and 
more  brightly.  Even  her  affections,  warm  and  eager, 
and  sensitive  as  they  had  been,  were  subdued  into  the 
same  holy  calm;  and  meetings  and  partings,  which 
in  other  days  would  have  thrilled  her  with  joy,  or 
wrung  her  very  heart  with  grief,  were  now  sustained 
with  the  sweet,  yet  solemn  composure,  of  one  whose 
hopes  have  "  surely  there  been  fixed,"  where  meetings 
are  for  ever,  and  partings  unknown.  Of  all  she  had 
ever  done  in  the  exercise  of  the  talents  with  which  it 
had  pleased  God  to  intrust  her,  she  spoke  in  the  meek- 
est and  lowliest  spirit ;  often  declaring  how  much  more 
ardently  than  ever,  had  life  been  prolonged,  her  pow- 
ers would  have  been  consecrated  to  His  service  :  and 
if  a  gentle  regret  would  sometimes  intrude,  as  she 
thought  of  the  many  literary  designs  on  which  her 
mind  and  heart  had  latterly  been  bent,  but  which 
were  now  dissipated  for  ever,  she  would  console 
herself  with  the  line  dictated  by  Milton  under  ana- 
logous circumstances  — 

"  Those  also  serve  who  only  stand  and  wait"  l 

There  was  at  times  an  affecting  inconsistency  in  the 
words  she  would  let  fall  to  those  around  her — some- 
times as  if  anticipating  a  renewal  of  their  earthly 
intercourse ;  at  others,  revealing,  by  some  allusion  or 

1  See  Milton's  Sonnet  on  his  Blindness. 


310  MEMOIR    OF    MRS.  HEMANS. 

injunction  fraught  with  farewell  tenderness,  how  com- 
pletely all  idea  of  such  a  possibility  had  passed  away 
from  her  mind.  One  day,  when  her  sister  was  beside 
her,  she  repeated,  with  calm  emphasis,  the  old  homely 
verse — 

"Fear  no  more  the  heat  o'  the  sun, 

Nor  the  furious  winter's  rages, 
Thou  thy  worldly  task  hast  done, 

Home  art  gone  and  ta'en  thy  wages." 

adding — "  Those  words  may  soon  be  said  for  me." 
And  the  circumstance  of  her  sinking  to  rest  on  the 
Saturday  night,  brought  them  most  touchingly  back 
to  remembrance. 

On  Sunday  evening,  the  15th  of  March,  it  had  been 
arranged  that  she  was  to  receive  the  sacrament  from 
the  hands  of  the  Rev.  Dr.  Dickinson  (one  of  the  Arch- 
bishop's chaplains),  who  was  in  the  habit  of  visiting 
and  reading  to  her.  Shortly  before  the  appointed 
hour,  she  was  seized  with  a  paroxysm  of  coughing,  so 
violent  and  prolonged,  that  those  who  stood  around 
her  bed,  scarcely  expected  she  could  survive  it ;  and 
the  exhaustion  which  followed  was  most  alarming. 
When  a  little  revived,  she  desired  that  the  sacred  rite 
might  still  be  performed.  Sadly  and  solemnly  did 
those  holiest  words  fall  on  the  hearts  of  the  little  group 
of  mourners*  assembled  in  the  quiet  chamber — on  one 
young  heart,  more  especially,  that  of  the  dear,  inno- 
cent boy,  admitted  to  his  first  communion  beside  his 
mother's  deathbed  ;  while  she  alone  was  calm  amongst 
the  trembling,  placid  amidst  the  weeping.1  A  night 

*"I  came  again:  the  place  was  bright 
*  With  something  of  celestial  light' — 


MEMOIRS    OF    MRS.    HEMANS.  311 

of  intense  anxiety  followed ;  yet  not  only  did  it  pass 
without  further  alarm,  but  the  morning  brought  revi- 
val, and  even  some  symptoms  of  improvement,  as 
though  a  sort  of  crisis  had  been  gone  through.  Once 
more  the  idea  of  a  hope — a  chance — of  recovery, 
gained  unconscious  admission  in  the  minds  of  those 
who,  a  week  before,  would  have  thought  the  mere 
mention  of  such  a  possibility  absolutely  chimerical. 
The  advance  of  spring  appeared  to  give  somewhat  of 
a  fresh  impulse  to  her  frame,  as  soft  showers  might, 
for  a  season,  revive  a  drooping  flower.  The  images 
of  external  nature  haunted  her,  as  by  the  working 
of  a  secret  sympathy,  more  vividly  than  ever  ;  and 
her  "  green  books,"  as  she  would  fancifully  call  them, 
were  again  laid  on  the  little  table  beside  her  bed, 
which,  with  "  the  ruling  passion,  strong  in  death,"  she 
loved  to  see  covered  with  volumes,  one  of  which  would 

A  simple  altar  by  the  bed, 
For  high  communion  meetly  spread, 
Chalice,  and  plate,  and  snowy  vest  — 
We  ate  and  drank:  then,  calmly  blest,. 
All  mourners  —  one  with  dying-  breath, 
We  sate  and  talk'd  of  Jesus'  death. 

"  Oh !  soothe  us,  haunt  us,  night  and  day, 
Ye  gentle  spirits  far  away, 
With  whom  we  shared  the  cup  of  grace* 
Then  parted;  ye  to  Christ's  embrace, 
We  to  the  lonesome  world  again, 
Yet  mindful  of  th'  unearthly  strain 
Practised  with  you  at  Eden's  door, 
To  be  sung  on,  where  angels  soar 
With  blended  voices  evermore." 
Visitation  of  the  Sick,  in  KEEBLE'S  Christian  Year. 


312  MEMOIR    OF    MRS.  HEMANS. 

always  lie  open.  Amongst  the  works  of  this  nature 
which  she  looked  over  or  listened  to  with  the  greatest 
interest,  were  Gilpin's  Forest  Scenery,  and  Bucke's 
Beauties,  Harmonies,  and  Sublimities  of  Nature.  And 
the  poetry  of  Bowles,  one  of  her  early  favourites, 
whom  for  years  she  had  scarcely  read  or  thought  of, 
was  now  recurred  to  with  a  sort  of  old  home  feeling, 
and  affectionate  recognition  of  its  mild  and  soothing 
beauty.  Another  book  must  be  mentioned  as  having 
been  peculiarly  pleasing  to  her  at  this  time — the  Lives 
of  Sacred  Poets,  by  R.  A.  Willmott,  Esq.  Her  mind 
dwelt  with  much  comfort  and  complacency  on  those 
records  of  the  pure  and  good,  whose  pious  thoughts 
and  quaint  expressions  had  latterly  gained  such  a  hold 
upon  her  heart.  Many  of  the  poetical  extracts  given 
in  that  volume  are  now  tenderly  associated  with  her 
remembrance,  particularly  those  lines  from  Quarles's 
elegy  on  the  death  of  Archbishop  Usher :  — 

"  Then  weep  no  more ;  see  how  his  peaceful  breast 
Rock'd  by  the  hand  of  death,  takes  quiet  rest. 
Disturb  him  not!  but  let  him  sweetly  take 
A  full  repose;  he  hath  been  long  awake." 

And  yet  more  intimately  connected  with  the  me- 
mory of  these  latter  days,  is  the  account  of  the  death 
of  Madame  de  Mornay,  in  the  second  volume  of  the 
Lives  of  Eminent  Christians  ;  which  she  entered  into 
with  the  deepest  interest,  and  earnestly  recommended 
as  a  beautiful  and  consolatory  picture,  showing  in 
bright,  yet  not  exaggerated  colours,  "  how  a  Christian 
can  die." 

Under  the  fond  and  fugitive  delusions  into  which 
this  unexpected  turn  in  her  malady  had  beguiled  the 


MEMOIR    OF    MRS.  HEMANS.  313 

anxious  watchers  round  her,  and  occasionally,  as  it 
appeared,  even  the  sufferer  herself,  her  sister,  recalled 
by  yet  stronger  ties,  bade  her  farewell,  on  the  1st  of 
April.  The  same  fluctuations  of  hope  and  fear  con- 
tinued to  assert  their  alternate  ascendency  during  the 
earlier  part  of  that  month ;  but  it  soon  became  but 
too  evident  that,  though  many  of  the  most  imminent 
and  distressing  symptoms  had  been  subdued,  they  had 
only  given  place  to  a  consuming  hectic  fever,  which 
went  on  surely  and  insidiously  wasting  the  last  rem- 
nants of  vitality ;  now  lending  to  its  victim  an  aspect 
of  illusive  energy,  now  sinking  her  into  the  deepest 
extreme  of  passive  and  helpless  prostration. 

After  the  exhausting  vicissitudes  of  days  when  it 
seemed  that  the  night  of  death  was  indeed  at  hand — 
of  nights  when  it  was  thought  that  she  could  never 
see  the  light  of  morning;  wonderful  even  to  those 
who  had  witnessed,  throughout  her  illness,  the  clear- 
ness and  brightness  of  the  never-dying  principle, 
amidst  the  desolation  and  decay  of  its  earthly  com- 
panion, was  the  concentrated  power  and  facility  with 
which,  on  Sunday,  the  26th  of  April,  she  dictated 
to  her  brother  the  "  Sabbath  Sonnet,"  the  last  strain, 
of  the  "  sweet  singer,'7  whose  harp  was  henceforth 
to  be  hung  upon  the  willows, 

"How  many  blessed  groups  this  hour  are  bending, 
Through  England's  primrose  meadow-paths,  their  way 
Toward  spire  and  tower,  'midst  shadowy  elms  ascending, 
Whence  the  sweet  chimes  proclaim  the  hallow'd  day! 
The  halls,  from  old  heroic  ages  grey, 
Pour  their  fair  children  forth;  and  hamlets  low, 
With  whose  thick  orchard  blooms  the  soft  winds  play, 
VOL.  I, 27 


314  MEMOIR    OF    MRS.    1IEMANS. 

Send  out  their  inmates  in  a  happy  flow, 
Like  a  freed  vernal  stream;  /  may  not  tread 
With  them  those  pathways  —  to  the  feverish  bed 
Of  sickness  hound ;  yet,  O  my  God !   I  bless 
Thy  mercy,  that  with  Sabbath  peace  hath  fill'd 
My  chasten'd  heart,  and  all  its  throbbings  stilFd 
To  one  deep  calm  of  lowliest  thankfulness."  l 

Little  now  remains  for  the  biographer,  but — 

"A  soft,  sad,  miserere  chant 
For  a  soul  about  to  go." 

After  this  last  effort,  the  shadows  of  death  began 
to  close  in  apace.  The  wing,  once  so  buoyant  and 
fearless,  was  now  meekly  folded,  and  the  weary, 
wounded  bird  longed  only  for  rest.  During  the  last 
week  of  her  life,  she  became  subject  to  slight  wan- 
Jerings ;  but  the  images  she  dwelt  upon  were  always 
pleasing  or  beautiful.  She  still  loved  to  be  read  to, 
and  seemed  to  feel  a  tranquillizing  influence  from  the 
sound  of  the  words,  even  when  incapable  of  attending 

1  Amongst  the  many  tributes  of  interest  and  admiration  elicited 
by  a  poem,  so  remarkable  to  all  readers — so  precious  to  many 
hearts — the  following  expressions,  contained  in  a  letter  from  the 
late  venerable  Bishop  of  Salisbury  to  Mrs.  Joanna  Baillie  (and 
already  published  by  the  latter),  are  too  pleasingly  applicable  not 
to  be  inserted  here.  ^  There  is  something  peculiarly  touching  in 
the  time,  the  subject,  and  the  occasion  of  this  death-bed  sonnet, 
and  in  the  affecting  contrast  between  the  '  blessed  groups*  she 
describes,  and  her  own  (humanly  speaking)  helpless  state  of  sick- 
ness ;  and  that  again  contrasted  with  the  hopeful  state  of  mind 
with  which  the  sonnet  concludes,  expressive  both  of  the  quiet 
comforts  of  a  Christian  Sabbath,  and  the  blessed  fruits  of  profit- 
able application.  Her  '  Sweet  Chimes'  on  *  Sabbath  Peace,' 
appear  to  me  very  characteristic  of  the  writer.*' 


MEMOIR    OF    MRS.    HEMANS.  315 

to  their  import.  Four  days  before  her  death,  she 
read  to  herself  the  Collect,  Epistle,  and  Gospel  for 
the  preceding  Sunday — the  fourth  Sunday  after  Easter. 
The  gracious  and  "comfortable  words"  of  that  gospel, 
mingling  the  consolations  of  Divine  compassion  with 
the  parting  tenderness  of  human  love,  were,  perhaps, 
the  most  appropriate  on  which  her  fading  eyes  could 
have  rested ;  nor  could  she  fail  to  apply  to  herself  the 
coincidence  of  some  of  the  expressions — "  Now>  I  go 
my  way  to  Him  that  sent  me" — "  I  go  to  my  Father, 
and  ye  see  me  no  more" — and,  "  Because  I  have  said 
these  things  unto  you,  sorrow  hath  filled  your  hearts." 
And,  as  her  feeble  hands  still  held  the  cherished  book, 
how  fervently  must  she  have  inwardly  responded  to 
the  words  of  the  dying  George  Herbert,  when,  being 
asked  what  prayers  he  would  prefer,  he  replied  — 
"  O  sir,  the  prayers  of  my  mother,  the  Church  of 
England — no  other  prayers  are  equal  to  them  ! " 

In  her  kind  friend  Dr.  Croker,  she  was  wont  to  say 
that  she  had  at  once  a  physician  and  a  pastor.  He 
frequently  read  to  her,  and  particularly  out  of  a  little 
book  which  she  dearly  loved,  and  which  he  had  first 
made  known  to  her — a  selection  from  the  works  of 
Archbishop  Leigh  ton.  The  last  time  of  her  listening 
to  it,  she  repeatedly  exclaimed,  "beautiful!  beautiful!" 
and,  with  her  eyes  upraised,  seemed  occupied  in  com- 
muning with  herself,  and  mentally  praying.  She  was 
attended  to  the  last  with  the  most  watchful  affection 
by  her  brother  and  his  wife,  by  her  darling  Charles, 
and  her  faithful  Anna,  to  whom  she  said,  when  all 
was  fast  drawing  to  a  close,  that  "she  had  been 


316  MEMOIR    OF    MRS.  HEMANS. 

making  her  peace  with  God; — that  she  felt  all  at 
peace  within  her  bosom." 

On  Saturday  the  16th  of  May,  she  sank  into  a 
gentle  slumber,  which  continued  almost  unbroken 
throughout  the  day ;  and  at  nine  o'clock  in  the  even- 
ing, her  spirit  passed  away  without  pain  or  struggle, 
and,  it  is  humbly  hoped,  was  translated,  through  the 
mediation  of  her  blessed  Redeemer,  to  that  rest  which 
remaineth  to  the  people  of  God. 

And  those  who  loved  her  best — in  whose  hearts 
her  departure  has  left  an  aching  void  which  they  must 
bear  with  them  to  the  grave — who  feel  that  a  light  is 
taken  from  their  path  which  nothing  earthly  can 
restore — can  yet  thankfully  and  submissively  acknow- 
ledge that  "  it  is  well ! " — can  rejoice  to  think  of  her 
in  safety  and  repose  ;  and,  with  spirits  chastened  like 
her  own,  can  bless  their  Heavenly  Father,  that  now, 
"  of  his  great  mercy,"  after  the  toils  and  trials  of  her 
mortal  career,  "  He  giveth  his  beloved  sleep." 

Her  remains  were  deposited  in  a  vault  beneath  St. 
Anne's  Church  in  Dublin,  almost  close  to  the  house 
where  she  died.  A  small  tablet  has  been  placed 
above  the  spot  where  she  is  laid,  inscribed  with  her 
name,  her  age,  and  the  date  of  her  death,  and  with 
the  following  lines  from  a  dirge  of  her  own :  — 

K  Calm  on  the  bosom  of  thy  God, 

Fair  Spirit !  rest  thee  now ! 
Ev'n  while  with  us  thy  footsteps  trode, 

His  seal  was  on  thy  brow. 
Dust  to  its  narrow  house  beneath! 

Soul  to  its  place  on  high ! 
They  that  have  seen  thy  look  in  death, 

No  more  may  fear  to  die." 


MEMOIR    OF    MRS.  HEMANS.  317 

A  similar  memorial,  bearing  the  following  inscrip- 
tion, is  erected  in  the  Cathedral  of  St.  Asaph,  beneath 
one  which  is  consecrated  to  the  remembrance  of  her 
mother :  — 

THIS  TABLET, 
PLACED  HERE  BY  HER  BROTHERS, 

IS 
IN  MEMORY  OF 

FELICIA  HEMANS, 

WHOSE  CHARACTER  IS  BEST  POURTRAYED 

IN  HER  WRITINGS. 

SHE  DIED  IN  DUBLIN,  MAY  16th,  1835. 
AGED  41. 


END  OF  MEMOIR. 


27* 


MRS.   HEMANS. 


LEA  &  BLANCHARD, 
PHILADELPHIA, 

WILL  SHORTLY  PUBLISH 

A  COMPLETE  AND  UNIFORM  EDITION 

OF 

MRS.  HEMANS'S  WORKS; 


TO  WHICH  IS  PREFIXED 


A  MEMOIR  BY  HER  SISTER, 
MRS.   HUGHES. 

In  Six  Volumes,  Royal  Duodecimo. 


PROSPECTUS. 

FROM  the  high  reputation  which  the  writings  of  MRS.  HEMANS 
have  attained,  and  from  the  influence  which  they  seem  destined 
to  exercise  over  the  public  mind,  alike  hy  their  loftiness  of  senti- 
ment, by  their  purity  of  moral  and  religious  feeling,  and  by  their 
beauty  of  language,  there  can  be  no  doubt  that  their  Author  has 
taken  a  permanent  place  amongst  the  Classics  of  Great  Britain. 
Hitherto  her  compositions  have  only  appeared  in  compact  vo- 
lumes, while  others  have  never  been  presented  in  an  acknow- 
ledged form.  The  Publishers  have,  therefore,  resolved  upon 
making  a  complete  and  uniform  edition  of  the  whole,  in  a  style 
similar  to  their  recent  issue  of  the  Poetical  Works  of  SCOTT,  and 
his  Life,  by  Lockhart. 

In  accomplishing  this  object  more  satisfactorily,  they  have 


deemed  it  of  importance  to  adhere,  in  some  measure,  to  the 
chronological  order  in  which  the  various  writings  of  MRS. 
HEMANS  appeared — that  the  developement  of  her  mind  may  be 
thus  more  distinctly  shown ;  and,  as  intellectual  efforts  formed 
its  epochs,  each  volume  will  open  with  one  or  other  of  her  more 
elaborate  productions.  It  is  also  here  proper  to  mention,  that 
such  of  her  MS.  relics,  as  her  literary  executors  think  fit  will  be 
now  for  the  first  time  submitted  to  the  public  eye. 


GENERAL  CONTENTS. 

VOLUME  I.,  consists  of  a  memoir  of  Mrs.  Hemans,  from  the 
pen  of  her  sister,  containing  authentic  records  of  her  life,  to- 
gether with  such  a  selection  from  her  correspondence  and  un- 
published writings,  as  most  accurately  convey  her  habits  of 
thought,  her  opinions  of  men  and  books,  and  her  own  literary 
plans  and  occupations — Wallace  and  Bruce.  It  also  compre- 
hends a  variety  of  extracts  from  her  juvenile  poetry. 

VOLUME  II. — Tales  and  historic  scenes. — The  restoration  of 
the  works  of  art  to  Italy. — Modern  Greece,  &c.,  &c. 

VOLUME  III. — The  Siege  of  Valencia. — The  Last  Constantine 
— The  Sceptic. — Greek  Songs. — Welsh  Melodies,  &c.,  &c. 

VOLUME  IV. — The  Vespers  of  Palermo. — De  Chatillon,  a 
tragedy  (hitherto  unpublished). — The  Forest  Sanctuary. — Lays 
of  Many  Lands,  &c.,  &c. 

VOLUME  V. — Records  of  Woman. — Sebastian  of  Portugal. — 
Songs  of  the  Affections,  and  Miscellaneous  Poems. 

VOLUME  VI. — Scenes  and  Hymns  of  Life, — Lyrics  and  Songs 
for  music. — Despondency  and  aspiration,  &c. 

***  A  specimen  of  the  type  and  size  of  page  is  here  presented. 


ENGLAND    AND    SPAIN.  335 

Then  crowded  round  its  free  and  simple  race, 
Amazement  pictured  wild  on  ev'ry  face; 
Who  deem'd  that  beings  of  celestial  birth, 
Sprung  from  the  sun,  descended  to  the  earth — 
Then  first  another  world,  another  sky, 
Beheld  Iberia's  banner  blaze  on  high! 

Still  prouder  glories  beam  on  history's  page, 
Imperial  CHARLES!  to  mark  thy  prosperous  age: 
Those  golden  days  of  arts  and  fancy  bright, 
When  Science  pour'd  her  mild,  refulgent  light; 
When  Painting  bade  the  glowing  canvas  breathe, 
Creative  Sculpture  claim'd  the  living  wreath ; 
When  roved  the  Muses  in  Ausonian  bowers, 
Weaving  immortal  crowns  of  fairest  flowers 
When  dngel-truth  dispersed,  with  beam  divine, 
The  clouds  that  veiPd  religion's  hallo w'd  shrine ; 
Those  golden  days  beheld  Iberia  tower 
High  ,on  the  pyramid  of  fame  and  power; 
Vain  all  the  efforts  of  her  numerous  foes, 
Her  might,  superior  still,  triumphant  rose. 
Thus,  on  proud  Lebanon's  exalted  brow, 
The  cedar,  frowning  o'er  the  plains  below 
Though  storms  assail,  its  regal  pomp  to  rend, 
Majestic,  still  aspires,  disdaining  e'er  to  bend ! 

When  Gallia  pour'd,  to  Pavia's  trophied  plain, 
Her  youthful  knights,  a  bold,  impetuous  train ; 
When,  after  many  a  toil  and  danger  past, 
The  fatal  morn  of  conflict  rose  at  last ; 
That  morning  saw  her  glittering  host  combine, 
And  form  in  close  array  the  threat'ning  line; 


336  ENGLAND    AND    SPAIN. 

Fire  in  each  eye,  and  force  in  ev'ry  arm, 
With  hope  exulting,  and  with  ardour  warm; 
Saw  to  the  gale  their  streaming  ensigns  play, 
Their  armour  flashing  to  the  beam  of  day; 
Their  gen'rous  chargers  panting,  spurn  the  ground, 
Roused  by  the  trumpet's  animating  sound; 
And  heard  in  air  their  warlike  music  float, 
The  martial  pipe,  the  drum's  inspiring  note ! 

Pale  set  the  sun — the  shades  of  evening  fell, 
The  mournful  night-wind  rung  their  funeral  knell ; 
And  the  same  day  beheld  their  warriors  dead, 
Their  sovereign  captive,  and  their  glories  fled ! 
Fled,  like  the  lightning's  evanescent  fire, 
Bright,  blazing,  dreadful — only  to  expire ! 
Then,  then,  while  prostrate  Gaul  confess'd  her  might 
Iberia's  planet  shed  meridian  light ! 
Nor  less,  on  famed  St.  Quin tin's  deathful  day, 
Castilian  spirit  bore  the  prize  away; 
Laurels  that  still  their  verdure  shall  retain, 
And  trophies  beaming  high  in  glory's  fane ! 
And  lo !  her  heroes,  warm  with  kindred  flame, 
Still  proudly  emulate  their  fathers'  fame ; 
Still  with  the  soul  of  patriot- valour  glow, 
Still  rush  impetuous  to  repel  the  foe; 
Wave  the  bright  faulchion,  lift  the  beamy  spear, 
And  bid  oppressive  Gallia  learn  to  fear! 
Be  theirs,  be  theirs,  unfading  honour's  crown, 
The  living  amaranths  of  bright  renown ! 
Be  theirs  th'  inspiring  tribute  of  applause, 
Due  to  the  champions  of  their  country's  cause ! 
Be  theirs  the  purest  bliss  that  virtue  loves, 
The  joy  when  conscience  whispers  and  approves ! 


LEA  AND  BLANCHARD, 

SUCCESSORS  TO  CAREY  AND  CO. 

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A  2P®HSTO«&a  ^OTW&JL 

For  1S4O. 

CONSISTING  OF  SELECT  PASSAGES  FROM  THE  WORKS  OF 
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3 
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4 

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6 

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